The Poetry

image and rhyme evolve of stillness. one heart beats its rhythm; a fluid pulse. rain, brain, tongue. the poetry in my poem. feel the passion of flesh upon a tree giving the rhyme and the reason to the disguise of little hands learning ignorance and the ways of fire and rope upon flesh. find the poetry in my poem. feel the passion of flesh; tattooed and numb. frozen in still life, the concentrations of humanity. captive and fallen prey to answers searched for still; in and between the lines of ‘mein kampf’. find the poetry in my poem. feel the passion of a flesh consumed by a pox woven into the fabric of broken promises and diseases of alcoholism and the reservation and the wounded knee. find the poetry in my poem feel now the passion of flesh, poor, in america; exempt, when seeking justice in a system where the dollar is the god we trust where defense budgets and space shuttles and social reforms have higher priority than the hungry, the homeless and the working poor where is the poetry in my poem? feel the passion; ...the horror of flesh, vaporized and poisoned by the fallout radiation of ‘the fat man’ and ‘little boy’, the day they fell from the sky. the day nagasaki and hiroshima became “ground zero” find the poetry in my poem. feel the passion of flesh attempting to reconcile natural selection; trespassing the spiritual and carnal realms dwelling there where truth is all at once lost to the emotion and the memories retold. find the poetry in my poem.