By Livio Farallo
they
could be cold and crabby now
reclining nonetheless,
or comfortable on goosedown pillows
warm as oatmeal.
through a door
we hear a clinking of different uniforms,
see history,
but learn nothing.
and we take time
with simple immolations;
with brushfires in little
appendices of countries;
with extinguishing bright
city blocks by incineration.
but weren’t those diamonds
pulled from dead fingers
nothing but spoiled coal?
and is it true that
to be the rightest and
the wrongest
you must bury the most?
you’ll excuse me but,
i want to hear
no more of peace slogans
and sacrifice, unless
this, is the last time.
Livio Farallo is co-founder/co-editor of Slipstream. His work has appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, Ranger, Misfit, North Dakota Quarterly, Poetry Salzburg Review, and elsewhere.
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