it is these things, the most simple,

underneath a tin roof…your body praying for rain.or perhaps it’s just delusion,or memory twisted by passion,or what an old man settles forin the echo of his life!kissing’s like undressing,slowly turns the spit,not conscious of mirrorsor the need to hurry….soft words almost forgottenfall like stones in a bottomless well…and the only cry of passionis the hawk…

in my gnarled andbattered old hand…and feels like home!your fleeting smilea cup of water,a tree giving shadeagainst the sun.what you saynever speaking a word!what you give…without looking back!

nuclear sites,or their troops deployed,or their airstrips…maybe, just maybe,we should try removingthe gun from their hearts…and the first stepis removing it from ours!

the erection that falls on darkened alone.the crack of thunder over distant hills.the simple prayer of a child in need.the whore, the thief, and the addict.the liar who leads running from himself.the young girl sold in the cattle stalls.the shot fired before guilt could breathe.the hammer, the nails, and hands that know.the woman giving birth,…

fell like agony rainonto the bound corpseof flesh made holy.the stone rolled away…a sparrow flewtowards light beyond conception.and all of mankind,-mouths agape-stood silent by love’s fire,shuffling their feet,counting victories by bodies!while history itself,-began anew-yet no one heardthe shout of silence…except for the tearsof male benediction’s common whore,and a bird without a name!

the clown, the fool…the old man running the pawn shop,the teacher who tries but cant seem…the whore working her corner,the policeman walking his beat,the old woman shivering under her quilt,who cant pay for heat!the murderer, the dealer,the victim, the prisoner…the soldier come home to no home,the farmer whose farm foreclosed.i am the bow, the arrow,the…