This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO


Now the witnesses leave the murky plot.
The inflamed and the righteous quieted,
Their minds, dripping like oily rags.
These tools of empire thrash the soiled stripes.

In oily soldiers of self
Hope writhes unfilled.
The wail of these bludgeoners and
Scowling whores to money’s den
Are bent toward our end.

The world spins `round the hastened, scarlet flood,
Manacles clank `gainst the gruesome stones;
This is the spectacle
of our making.

And it is the rudder turned toward loss, and hunger
And terror, and this throbbing
Shaped by we the people
To the failure of our will, our freedom, our earth…

The inflamed and righteous are hushed,
Witnesses of their own dreadful spirit-
O! Let us mend this at once!
America must redeem herself;
Conquer nothing, torture not, and murder no one.
She must, before hatred holds mirror up to her ashen face,
Make a beautiful noise away from her doom.

Let us be witness to the Kingdom’s dream,
Let us not allow the final sound to be
The cloven-hoofed echo…

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

U.S. Attorneys Testify About Their Firings

Inside Bush’s Prosecutors Purge

Air America Radio

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman


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