For the Children We Are Killing

The boy as old as your own

walks to the convenience store

 

to meet his murderer is disremembered, until

it haunts your own eyes.  No rose-

 

tinted glasses work here.  The mildly

 

waifish woman—her efforts to remain silently

unseen are in vain because that just makes her more

 

mysterious.  She steps into another world she

creates with fingers moving along

 

typeface.  The page forgets nothing

even when the voice which penned it is cold,

is gone, is no more.

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Entropy Elegy

To the sum of a battle cry

can you help?  In the different selves

 

outside of oneself a sickness has taken

hold.  The sad melody of malady

 

gripping the heart gone

stunned by reality

 

seen in plain sight that no

one seems to see. I have

 

not the language to explain—but I try.  Too

 

many of this city’s people who would

rather go another day not thinking

 

because the things they cannot unlearn

are too scary.  Ugly truths

 

refuse to be forgotten climbing like aggressive

clematis choking out everything in its path

 

only to bloom and die year after year, after life-

times of forgotten ago.  Vines coil tight to find

 

stability for the rest of itself with violet and magenta

blooms which fall petal by petal, until they look

 

to the naked eye as to be dead.