The night's face, pocked with stars.
In the stellar wind, we soar.
From this pale light,
acknowledge insignificance, watch
the blue spinning so far away, so close.
I am that finite point
of nowhere, of nothing, wondering
when the sun will truly darken,
if I will see tomorrow, today.
Take Another Piece of My Heart
Perhaps the left ventricle, or the anterior descending
vein. No matter which you grab, I'll not survive
the seizure, but is that not the point? And which coin
will you place in my mouth to ease the passage across
the river Acheron? Or will I remain on the banks,
neutral and overlooked, forgotten. If this river is woe,
I serve its pride. I wear its banner. Do you recall the
butcher's bill from that last flight? Sixty innocents,
including children. How many more must we tally
before admitting to the futility of perpetual war?
An acquaintance on the ground that day saw the
flash and immediately thought there are no mistakes,
just as I, from my box in Nevada, admitted, too, that
no mistakes occur, a synchronicity joined in death
and its production. I no longer employ euphemism.
When my coworker's eyes crinkle and he laughs
about weeding the lawn of fun-sized terrorists,
I see bloody children, mangled flesh, smoke and
flame. I kill from comfort and afar. This is my life.
by Edward Lee
... for when the nights turn cold / and loneliness fills / the moonlit bedroom ...
by Estrella del Valle (translated by Toshiya Kamei)
... Coconuts are brown outside / but very white inside ...