There are no sides but every side,

those defined by what they know nothing of

they are a t-shirt fading on a student's couch

a body festering in a Kosovan barn

 

Youthful righteousness,

insulting the open wounds of real people's lives.

croctears on "Whitehall" while "Bruxelles" gorges

"Capitol Hill" wrings its hands on red lines that can't be crossed.

 

Quiet your mouth or quiet the bombs

hardly the Ballot box and Armalite

"They haven't gone away you know"

well, you'd have to turn up first to do so!

 

down there beneath the dust where journos can't go

people assume they know what it's like,

where children without the chance to live

die without ever knowing what dying is.

 

So shut up, shut up your twisted fruitless tongue

that has tasted harvests from fields irrigated with blood.

they turn sea water into wine there now

and people into protest marches, banners, and charity millionaires.

 

Proud vitriol distracts from grotesque reality,

headlines written online give us something to talk of.

stop writing stop talking, start CPR, start the fucking car

avoid the dead in the road....

 

Your mind is squirming like a toad!

 

The bars are open along the coast...contractors comparing daily rates

per diem too,...all day buffet, the grabbing hands, the grabbing hands!

elsewhere hands toward the parachutes landing in the sea,

water in the water, shit in the water, people in the water...

 

I paste these words of no relief on pages, on pages...

which become books, which become history, which become lessons,

which become ignored, which become lost, which be coming around again.

The Toad squats and pushes poison from its flesh....

 

Such a clever toad to navigate this busy road.