Each line is arrowed red.
Inside, they tumble
across muscled continents
like erythrocytes, millions
of flesh-tucked skulls hauling
the heaviness of dreams. Red
for departure, blue for return.
Their lives shrunk to a cell
they palm to their chest
in bus depots and windowless tents
at night, seeking a signal,
a recognizable voice, someone
home, lithium ions draining.
When they sleep, they sleep
in clots of human waking.
When given paper and crayons,
their children draw weapons.
Red for departure, blue
for return. Like veins, the lines
draw back to the heart, the heart
where the rivers flooded,
or the fields baked in drought,
where the guns came out,
having traveled from somewhere far,
and guns made love to guns,
making more guns,
and the blood began to run.
From: https://therumpus.net/2018/12/rumpus-original-poetry-three-poems-by-philip-metres/
Date: 2018
By: Philip J. Metres III (1970- )