The Parents of the Deceased

March 25, 2003

Type: discussion

We want sweetness in our houses, and
to sleep, despite the bellow of these
machines embedded in our most
sensitive rooms, whose sheets

flap emblazoned with the lead
stare of invasion. It's over there,
they tell me, blowing up and
simmering down, until even air

coats with corpses, and now this dance
of who owns what begins, falling down
when we insulate our living rooms against
the savor of burned skin, the sound

in every tone of conquest: we want their lives
to crumple, streak; we want to burn their skies.

2003/03/25 07:23:25

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http://www.lewislacook.com/
NEW! Light Has No Tongue: http://www.lewislacook.com/lightHasNoTongue
ARCADIA: long poem serialized in the muse apprentice guild: http://www.muse-apprentice-guild.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html

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