“We know that a peaceful world
cannot long exist, one-third rich
and two-thirds hungry.”
— Jimmy Carter (America)

This stupid world —-
skinny mosquitoes, skinny fleas,
skinny children.
—- Issa (Japan)

][][

Heft it by the pound.

Squeeze it and juice

seeps between your fingers.

They don’t say that we’re

made up of juice,

though, but water, but

it is the same thing.

Life in water,

summer water,

warm to the touch.

In Vegas the nights

were so warm it felt

as if you’d been born

three weeks ago.

What sea or river or

pool could rival that?

The joy in heat

is that you can get

out of it. Not

the frog in the pan.

Like food, when

we’re satiated

we stop.

Which makes us

part of the 1%.

Some of us get to eat.

Is pot roast the color

of emergency? No.

The blue-gun metal

shell of artillery.

The silver-white

of the bayonet.

The orange landmine.

The red coal glow

of the end of a cigarette,

peppering human skin.

A body, anybody, hefted

between two staggering

detainees is still 75% water.

But it isn’t water

that runs down

the leg, staining

your hands where you

held her, staining

the ground

with something

that will dry in the heat,

dry and dissolve.