Ukraine

It’s possible to destroy even hell

And turn evil to dust

With the dropping of shell after shell.

What remains is one man’s lust

Mating with his own cold will,

Giving birth to blood and rust.

Each bullet or bomb’s a pill

That plugs a hole in his brain,

Which is cold and still,

As is Ukraine,

Where a young child fell

And didn’t get up again —

Her killer dares her now to tell.

War, Terzata #45

Cold air slipped in the window

Left open overnight.

It’s 100 below zero

And all is either black or white.

Ice leans against our home

As if meaning to fight.

The wind chants a lifeless Om.

“This is our new Ice Age

Under a sun silver as chrome,”

Says the nodding sage.

There’s no bitterness or woe

I could scratch on this page —

The ink has ceased to flow.