Thursday, January 8, 2015


like scattered souls
blinking in the night,
as frozen as deer
(in headlights).

Who can see
what we've become?
Who can say
what we've measured?
Can we know
the distance of our moral

Can the shaken stars
see our patterns,
see our horrors,
make animals of

When it all comes falling -
crumbling - slamming - down,
Who will watch us fall?
Will they see us sink
and make a wish?
Or will they see

(a waste)?

This is an old one, but it came to mind today, as I was thinking of my earlier post about the Iraq War. I wrote this in Baghdad, in late 2007 or early 2008. 
Here's the original post
I'm sharing this for the imaginary garden.
And now I'm going to bed.
Nighty night.

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