Goodnight

Webs of crooked lies deceive our inner hero
the wounds of past trespasses lock doors to freedom
freedom belabors the inclimate military
reality is a broken catchphrase for meat manufacturers
cattle withdraw cash from temples of fraud
we are all double agents who have had our
memories erased.
Television tries to implant new memories of heroic deeds
but finds the spot occupied by dusty trauma

I can write the saddest lines tonight
because the rain washes into rivers of mute erosion
the glad rags of our lonely love affair
are burned in acrid despair
but the embers burn red and the ashes fertilize new seeds
sewn by new lovers inventing the language again and again
holding hands holding hearts