Bareface Pickney Excerpts >>

I Cannot Comment

I cannot comment on the war
It would not be fair
For I was in the comfort of my bed
when at Ground Zero
thousands fell dead

I don't have the right to talk of the carnage
Charred flesh, ravaged dreams, wasted lives
Singed hair, bubbles of blisters, peels of skin
And raw, bloody wounds where fuselage carved in
Exploded beings and the cremation of the living

Tons of paper floating in the plume of cruelty
They look like hope reaching
from a disaster that crashed in
There is a bitterness of which I can only guess
For I never tasted the dry,
heavy gloom of the terrorists' net

And while the buildings folded into themselves
I watched...transfixed
But I cannot comment, because
I did not feel the eerie,
suffocating blandness of premature death
I did not hear the shrills of anguish
on the civilians' breath

Oceans of tears,
arms grasping to embrace a stilled nothingness
And what about the emptiness
in the hearts of those who expired?
The stillness on the houses where there
Are only tears and prayers?

Fixed stares, frozen smiles,
screams exploding
from the pores of those who are alive
I cannot comment on the war,
It would not be fair
For while I rested that morning
Evil poisoned the freeness of the air

And I watched...transfixed
While hatred defiled the trust of freedom's crest
And soot and rubble darkened the heroes' quest
And I saw scores of people plummet out
while the fire fighters went in
like birds flying amid despair...
while reality checked in

I cannot comment on the war
It would not be fair...


Reality on the Subway

I never thought of the smell...
Unwashed bodies.
Dirty clothes.
Stale sex.
Perspiration oozing
from the armpits
and crotches
of the consumers of sea creatures
and land creatures
and plant life
and various man-made concoctions.

Many fleas and lice.
Hundreds and hundreds
of creepy crawly insects accompanied by flies.
Mice urine stains everywhere!
Dog filth.
Cat hair.
And the moist droplets of tamed birds.

Sour breath.
Rotten teeth.
Tons of slimy saliva spewing
at uncomfortable intervals
from the mouths of almost everyone.
Packaged nicotine.
Brewed coffee.
And the occasional farts from
those who are lactose intolerant.

I never thought of the smell...until now.

<<page one of the I am the Djembe excerpts>>

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