Beckett walked the
foggy boulevards
of Paris, weeping, crying
like a baby
like a teenage
sailor
from
Marseilles,
brooding on
cocaine and
codeine
shattered
to the core
over his beautiful and lost love
and he
added to the mix
a lot of Irish whiskey
finally collapsing
in the blackness of an alleyway
feeling
like his heart
had been pierced
by her pimp's
dagger
and the bleeding
would never
end.
No one's hands
are
clean
in the ageless
subhuman
web of
politics and
militarism
commerce and
acquisition
domination and
genocide
We are all part of it, Dad, we are all involved
No one is immune
to the fatal
afflictions
of greed and
tribal warfare
wherever
you might be
contemplating
peace
( or your navel )
in some
corner
of this
barbaric and dark
world
We are all part of it, Dad, we are all involved
The pendulum swings
not more than 6 feet from
my face, as the evening sun
goes down. In my heart and mind
I'm standing on
the edge of a pit
of sadness and grief and rage,
about to fall into
its fathom less depth . But, I find
the remote control
under the couch
and turn the television off
