election eve


it’s now somewhere after midnight and i’m listening to single cello draw the seconds into minutes, bouncing off the beat of a trombone and fingers on guitar strings… then the voice comes in, and i’ m making my way down the mountain, finding comfort in my own echoes…


“In conclusion, I tell you in all truth that your security is not in the hands of Kerry, nor Bush, nor al-Qa’ida. No, your security is in your own hands.”


a new day is breaking,
or perhaps it’s already broken, bruised,
fleshy and warm,
still dripping
tears.


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words