by Jack M. Freedman
We are dismembered
Membranes ripped apart at the seams
Whether it's meant to be only God knows.
Know that in flames we reside
Side by side our limbs rest in embers
Ghosts of ground wars floating upon bones
Ectoplasm healing the wounds of the cases
In which their spirits used to lie.
Las bombas estan llamado.
These children of the beloved
And there animals as well
Welded towards the home of Hades
Residing upon the remains of wrists and knuckles
Took to the sky in April
Leaving them and their bestial familiars to die
By their hands and explosives
I take to the teaming of the rain
Awakening me from these horrors
Knowing that the events of Guernica
Could happen domestically
And the hand that writes the poetry
Crying for mercy
Will be separated from the forearm
With pen still gripped.
Jack M. Freedman
is a poet/spoken word artist from Staten Island, NY.