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[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]        upstairs   
        the rice cooks —   
             
        i must be mindful of the time   
        the rice is not forgiving   
        done in fickle time   
        it's done and ready   
        or it's gone   
             
        i feel like rice   
        i feel like fields again   
        or maybe corn      
        high stalks of corn   
        all lighted in a bluish light   
        the dream again   
        a crash of car on car   
        a skull   
        a body   
        off   
        and out   
        and gone   
             
        no mention of the blood   
        the red   
        the primal red   
        but red      
        red as the light      
        that light that moves inside us still rejoices      
        when the skin must split   
        must offer up its color red   
        a fountain   
        celebrating life   
        a record of the suffering   
        which makes us   
        makes us up   
             
             
        and here they come      
        our leaders now      
        explain what's needed now for us to hear   
        and in our illness   
        in our need   
        we look in their direction   
        help them   
        kiss them on their useful lips   
             
        we   
        of weapons, words, and separation   
             
        we   
        completely similar   
        when arguing or killing or   
        ignoring simple similarity of us and ants   
             
        the continuity of time requires all this   
             
        when arguing or killing or   
        the necessary burning of the ones we love   
             
        random molecules compel, there is no blame   
             
        just place   
        too high      
        just space      
        (enough to stand)      
        to lean   
        to fall into the wind   
        to see, if possible, the sky   
        a skull   
        a body   
        concrete ground      
        and all these talking words   
        will drown   
        and all this questioning   
        will end   
        this injured vacuum   
        finally   
        will mend      
             
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Written by rayheinrich (Death Plane for Teddy)
Published | Edited 3rd Oct 2010
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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