Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Poetry

Imagine the bandits, tearing down the walls
To get at the prizes, the jewels, the rewards, them all
If you do imagine their ravishing, their eagerness, their obsessed eyes,
What color the hands prying loose the bricks you see?

Imagine the raiders, recording on paper
Their collateralized debt obligations compounded and folded
If you do imagine their greedful, needful, heedless eyes,
What color the hands signing on papers you see?

What is it about violence that colors it dark, what is it about money that colors it light?
What is it about the myths that one is better feared, what is it that says the other
just needs regulation?

I don't know. I'm a product of my culture. My fears make no sense except the sense of nature,
So natural, they say, my students, sitting so peacefully, so serenely, so calmly ignorant,
that they feel no need, no greed, to know some truth that will shatter their dreams,
and fears, and nightmares, and terrors,
Because it seems like it's much easier to be natural, to be sensible,
And regulate the one
While shooting the other

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