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the body dissected, the cancer laid bare (early)

the order is given
and his hands
are broken

he is told to play his guitar
and he does

and it would be
a beautiful story but
the machine-gun has already
been invented and the mass grave
perfected

and i live in a small town
in upstate new york
where it takes almost twenty years
for the news to reach

i watch as men jump to
their deaths
from the 98th floor

i listen to a woman with a
bloodstained smile
swear she didn't murder her children

she understands

every lie is the truth and
all of them are beautiful

write this down somewhere or
better yet
carve it across your lover's back

remember that there is a
difference between
necessity and violence

any junkie will
tell you the same thing

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