what is thinking

when carnage is daily weather—met with an itch

to switch the channel—a call to the misnamed

Department of Public Safety to confront gun awe—

no words–but flesh is all that’s left

to cover the eyes—no camera present—no way to choose sides

between the bloodshed that flows at home—and the

blood stains on shrouds—the white spaces we can’t see—drown out all but

an unsteady heartbeat—surrendering its count—in place of solace

suffering is a predicate

we don’t see it or hear it

as news

breaking us.

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