The couple from Chapel Hill never saw a photo,
From their wedding,
Because it just arrived,
Upon their murder.
So if you want young people to die,
shot in the head, in a grave,
keep yourselves polarized,
keep fighting for your side.
Keep up with proxy wars,
And real wars.
But if you have a tendency,
Upon the death of the young,
To feel a little sick,
To see through sleepless eyes,
As they gaze into each others’ eyes,
For the last time,
If their religion, if their skin tone,
Matters not to you,
Then show it,
Every day, in every way,
In your empathy and solidarity,
With those who are different in your midst.
There is no other way to build the world,
And there never has been.…
Perhaps the one state of Israel and Palestine already exists,
Perhaps already for half a century.
It is there perhaps,
Without justice without peace,
As blind as a bat,
As we all are.
The delusional declaration of an American democracy,
Preceded the reality of citizens of color,
By two centuries.
The ideal precedes the real,
Kills those who dare to see,
Until one day it appears,
Like a Monet,
As the shadows of darkness,
Are driven away,
By the Light. …
Depression is the call of the dead,
It is the enchanted entrance to the grave.
The dead have just as much claim on us as the living.
Why do the living have a greater claim?
Why is there a greater purpose here than with them?
By joining those you failed to save.
Crawl out! Crawl out,
From this graveyard of consciousness.
There is no comfort here,
There is no eternal rest,
There is nothing.
The most meaningless and transient embrace,
Surpasses the illusion of reunion,
Through making beautiful skin go cold.
The dead live in the heart,
But only when it is beating.
Rescue the dead together with the living,
Breathe deep through tears,
So that the dead and the living,
Together find a home,
In your fragile,