Author Joseph Heywood
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9-11 at 9
[September 11, 2010]

I squarsh and spritz, arrange pigments
On gesso canvas, lush flesh tones
Pinkcreamorangewhite blended rich,
Right brain alite in descending
Gloam,hints of the night dark- dancing,
Deep in that of which we are all made,
We swim the Great River Tau,
Our own, and the global water,
Looking to dwell among birds, herds,
Cocooned in scented cedar
Swamps, dark shut-tite canopies where
Dark is light of solitude,
No paths, we must find our way,
Get down our own strokes and routes.
I dream this with crowds gathered
To pray, drunk on religion
Nutcases drugged by fervors
Of false Mohammads who sent them
Here to fly jets into buildings
Filled with those Great Satanic
Monsters: Us, we who spawn our own
Religious fervors, react
By sending armies to a place
That had nothing to do with this,
The American Way, strike me,
I’ll strike back against another,
All you people looking alike.
In place of prayer, thought may point
Us in better directions.


 
 
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