With a tongue of stone
your towers have fallen
in a cloud of gold
with your limousine war
we all must suffer to hear you
with your flag of broken children
we do the crucifix waltz
my television was stolen
from the heart of a Spanish painter
but since the collapse
of your bouquet of towers
I cannot sleep and think
only of ringing telephones
and the misery that covers this earth
like sores.

©2002, Larry Sawyer

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Larry Sawyer is the editor of Milk Magazine.

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