if rambo sewed curtains
instead of his arm
what strength would he
place in the cotton,
resilience to tugs and pressure
from a climbing cat
or a child wishing
to see snow from a
winters window,
it need not be war
it need not be pain,
sometimes curtains close
out the things we wish
not to see,
but does rambo need
to sew them every time
Rambo
itch/
raw pressed flesh sore
beyond scabs flecked insolence
sigh/
blood threads awful sign
of tangible fluid
life in crimson
listen/
orchestrated pain
handheld waves of distraction,
tainted tongue sings mettallic
milky/
secreted thoughts weeping tears,
unfurled ideals a barren burned flag,
lighten the heart as you pick
rushes/
into the arena
no pressed olive leaves or branches
all that was ancient spilled
overnight into turgid oceans swell
glassy/
eyes of expectant ones
embracing the sore flesh your body
offers
tragic tide of words come
slicks/
the machinations of policy
as the wounded lain in constitution
heart blasts trumpet
from the top
all visibility is bright in context
and the healing begins
the foetus hired by
a different ideal,
had a bigger importance
than life,
created as a fancy
payment to democracy,
to pave a way
for laborers seeking
more than death,
with unblemished mind
like a cherry in the beak
of a thirsting bird,
words come on the
quiet wind,
mother feels you
wake and sleep
birth and dawn akin,
to be laid in a basket
of flowers,
bright eyes
changing wind
to laughter,
there would be
no more fallen
on foreign fields
leaves left on the surface
of a swift stream,
lips reach to the eclipse
there is other life
abide the balm that now
oils your body,
first voice the only voice
from subtle throat,
a silver link
for tender distances,
the soul will surmise
a transition,
surrender beauty
bring communal tranquility,
kiss mothers breast
milk not sunburnt wheat
tasted there,
all is complete
democracy feels
a quenchless spring
unlittered by irony
velvetmedia 