by Mark Kyungsoo Bias

                                   for Sean Bonney


or without time. There is no edge
of the world anymore. We have not
come very far. The cities are still
here. I see your life on the soles of
your feet, in the soul of the dirt and
I understand. We have failed in so
many ways. Where is the miracle?
The starving are now the starved.
But we cannot be anywhere
without a whimper of where. The
masses blockaded by a shrinking
tree line and a line. Bodies piled in
the field. Poetry has failed in so
many ways. America is bordered
like a secret. America is a bedrock
of silence. The poem is not art it is
violence. There is no washing away
the blood, only drawing with it.


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