Blood for blood is in our bones,
the bass line of a ceaseless requiem.
Justice mumbles carpe diem
but none of the dead are soothed
while the living gloat and hoot, or wail
Why did it have to be her, or him?
Why better answers have not been raised
from the leaves of Good Books,
why blood and honor have been spun
into squalls of semantics in scriptures
and torn by cyclones of our double helix
which supersede love —why is anybody’s guess.
Why is left to be lived by those who simply believe
that death for death, or death for turf,
yields no more than a sprawl of cemeteries.
by Jim Culleny, 5/2/11
Rev: 3/9/22
Blink 