Mass Iraqi graves,
live bodies trucked to pits 120 degrees lined nameless, sixty-three sites in
southern Iraq alone, eight million dollars found buried in the garden of Saddam
Hussein’s personal secretary, adulteries buried in sand; injustice bribes
traded for basic services or monomaniacal dictators capriciously stinging
death’s scythe for the inference of transgression to indicate usurpation to the
absoluteness of what is to be an Earthen god.
Wars raining death upon the Poor squished ants scurrying out the hill
done nothing but to be human attempting existence pressed to the brink from
birth so that death is accepted. There
remains no fear for living is a manner of perdition imbedded to the spirit
soaking so that the torture of any transition between breathing and not is but
an exhalation of release into succor. This
fearlessness terrifies the globe.
The screw tightened to
make a woman prostitute her body to feed her children. A lesbian engage in sex with a man
unwittingly transacting H.I.V. to present appearances of a heterosexual norm to
her elders. A boy raped by his father,
beaten and marginalized until deciding the maw of the street is a safer
chamber. The callused hands of a sugar
cane worker chopping reed upon reed until there is pay to eat for the day, but
never two days, so in one missed equates to death. The choice between medicine or food is
incalculable discretion of a human squelched into the animal pit, disposed and
incinerated into the pyre.
A solider and an
insurgent eyeing scope line to vision endured to shake fear in the conflict
bigger than their bodies reverberating the universe to please cessation
enacting death. Family land razed by a
corporate interest corrupting the eco-chain so that starvation becomes the logo
on the plant separating a stomach’s livelihood via a stock price. Rice, medicine, oil, sugar, cocaine, cattle,
opium, eggs, and the industries of fire and hurricanes hustle for bodies to
churn the butter.
Syrian desert storms
quashing the tide of Arab Springs, Said’s Orientalism spraying pestilence empathy
of who deserves to live, to be heard, to be understood beyond a strutting
sand-zombie coming to root a Euro-job
for a place to avoid bombardment as if a choice remains in countries like Iraq,
Sudan, Afghanistan, or Syria torn apart by war.
Not my problem like a battle flag belief of lines so that no one is a
citizen of the world when viewed in the macroscopic whitewash. Only in papers and mathematics of safety
zones, winners and losers and rising tides with necks long and not long enough
mapped out into the armpits and nose hairs of the Earth tightened waistband of
the equator flushing heat and diversity of species into a monoculture of
consumerism.
The price paid for
Bangladeshi fabric or a Chinese assembly line of bottles inspected like a
Ukrainian bribe for a pass to urinate without being beaten into quarantine
imprisoned without being rolled into a rug and flogged. Orwell’s 1984 head cage of rats gnawing at
the ear lobes and nostrils of humanity pecking out flesh. The news-speak and regurgitated power
expectations of who has and who has not and how the resources are motivated to
comply to activate the daily machines of trading the time one has on this Earth
for the time of another. We trade labor
for equity, the privilege to eat, to sleep without ample threat of death
imploding the roof or buzzing the window in a pinprick of blood sloshing the
pillow.
What is a proper
justification for war in this vat of injustice?
Which god is watching and for what purpose? What is the purpose of this Haitian isle
enslaved and raped into a French cholera outbreak defecating in the streams of
drink? What is Putin’s sledge and oil
drill peppering Crimea into compliance to pay the tithe? What is the tax deduction for the
pulpit?
The immigrant sings,
“AaaaAhhhAaaaaAhhh!” crossing the border in a ship of 110 bodies taking on
water praying for Italian grace. What is
the smuggler’s lament? What is Trump’s
xenophobic wall? Who wears the
Mockingjay?
The simple look of one
into the eyes of another, “I see you. I hear you.” This drive to contribute to the pile of bodies
struggling and helping and killing and loving and holding and destroying and
witnessing the grand circus is the undulating bond of interconnection. This is to be, human.
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