Sound

Standard

“Too Many Kids Finding Rain in the Dust” 

A broken hand frets on a violin
and violently tells me that it does not aim
for the song of birds.
Intentionally fingers press wrongly on metal strings,
with the disconcerting intensity of the strike of a bow
exposing us as bats in the light of
a pop of a gun or the bang of a bomb.
We scurry upwards and
downwards to
keep close to the Lazarus darkness

As children’s feces smear on each other like paint on a palette.
There’s no innocence in this colored nightmare,
and no remorse in this black death.
There shall be no ringing of bells or screams –
but an announcement to bring out our dead
and die for them once again.

Metempsychosis