The Sacrifice - Part 2


“I’m at the end of my game”

the blurred sequence

a journey to the secret gifts of freedom

“everything blurs”

he takes the drink


a bartender’s eyes

kinder than when he first met him

promising that he knows the right place

that he knows where they are headed

Everything is blurred.

“I am on a journey.”

to freedom!

those not coming back

never left

does he know how long I’ve been here?

being of the times?

to study the people

and their worth


jump out of the bushes with arched daggers

they eat only at night

when the sun is down

collecting their vegetables for the evening

vegetables diseased

fruits dried

it’s not right

that they exist among the living

and they collect enough vegetables

for the evening

and they thrive

I’ve brought us

to the pit

where is the justice?

have them walk the plank

He stands before her headstone

everything photographed

nothing lived


Another night comes to us,

crowds gather and disperse

shepherded by the algorhythm of the time

the age of Man will be remembered as

the age of Organization

is that success?


enjoying the feast

“have another drink”

the man trusts my face

I should trust his body

for the taste of pleasure

he knows where we should go

to the mystery

the last little stronghold on earth

some streets down

curled at the end of a cobblestone corridor.

He closes shop and I write you

but when I begin I notice

my tongue is tied to my heart

my chest pounding in fear

you ask me why but never

what I really wanted

why I come

every night

to the same dead bar

on the same sorry island

holding my eyes to the same dead eyes

beaten to the curve of the same dead skull


the woman who inspires me

imagine how I am.

how can I say things to you without whispering them in your ear

I proposed tonight

to a friend

who visits to get fucked on his terms

to renew the stage

build the opera house

his reaction-

a disgusting cough

“the tools we had…

were martyred”


with cancer


was an early interest

holding officials


but for all my actions

I accomplished nothing

and worse

I know with me the stage dies

the cause for being here

will be worthless

the meaning

to the words

a purpose

to be wished well


at death

to persist

away from the claims

of persecution

freedom is for the wise

but they are dispossessed of it

the tragedy

of an entire generation


to retaliate

he told me,

I expected their surrender

but not

their surprise

we were untouchable

and we surprised the establishment

I am prepared for anything

I prepare for the worst

I close my eyes.

I find the image of the lake from our youth

frozen over,

and standing there,

beaming like a hoisted swan,

stands the actor I am looking for,

the maverick,

the demand.


He was afraid to approach her

avoiding the color

of her neck

“where is the crowd?”

I find your voice a temple

my heart

a grave to sleep

“is that how you remember me?”

because I know you think I’ve stopped thinking

of our past

there is no song to accompany my humility

in remembering you

if I ended there

I wouldn’t be accountable

and I make promises that I keep

the actor carries

a wounded hand

drawn over her shoulder

by a rat

when I first found out

traitors were executed

I was glad

I thought

it takes enough of us to carry on

so why not lose some of the scum

holding onto my belongings

with fear

suspicious of the class

drawn into the trap

the decisive role

is always

carried by a woman

she guards the pamphlets with her life

chooses who is lonely

I never believed

in poetry

the idea

that peace

was foreign to me