confession

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342

There is no them.

Only us:
across the table,
behind the wall,
sharing coffee,
passing the green beans,
throwing stones,
breaking curfew;

armed to the teeth
biting back with rubber bullets,
cheering for little leaguers,
praying for peace,
marching in the night,
hiding behind official jargon;

joining in song,
crying out for explanations,
flying drones in acts
of faceless violence,
dousing ourselves with ice water,
struggling to learn

that life is more than
a series of self-inflicted wounds.

There is no them. Only us.

Peace,
Milton

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4 COMMENTS

  1. Read a great story years ago told by a young man at a music festival in England — he was having a bad day and feeling paranoid and afraid and climbed onto a tour bus to hide. It turned out to be Captain Beefheart’s bus. When the band noticed him, Don Van Vliet walked over and said, “Who is this cat?”

    “Then I remembered my assumed predicament. How I was lost in Hell and all that sort of thing. So I hit him with, ‘Whose side are you on?’ He batted back with, ”Why does there have to be any sides? Why can’t it be like a circle?’”

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