Drums

fire on the sea and in the tides
 fire on every hill and every mountain side
 and all day we hear the
 singing out of the heavy heavy rhythm of war
 i know the sound and smell of
 gunshots gunshot
 around corners i have nothing to compare you to
 a tool for which i found i have no use
 my years of youth end up split into twos
 forget touching in homes we touch in bathrooms
 back rooms and hallways all eyes and conversions
 i would hope this event has no contradiction
 if i could purge my tongue of all of this condescension
 if only i wasn't so so so so
 blood in the sea and in the tides
 blood on every hill and every mountain side
 and all day we fail to see the strength of
 the heavy, sweet
 choked hands we choose to hold
 some people think that the womb
 is a galaxy of bright stars
 some people think the womb is a
 garden planted in the rich earth
 from which to pick a bouquet
 but i smell blood
 and when our hands touch it has the force of
 gunshots
 eating off each other with
 hands and mouths
 i don't need any forks with my
 father and my mother
 coughing when we should be
 laughing are we doing
 whatever it is we should be doing?
 walking through washington dc at night?
 there are so many ways
 i could finish this rhyme
 how could i?
 i don't even know what to think
 no less what to do when i read of...