Monday, February 2, 2009

For Lynndie England

What starts at the top
of the chain of command










falls




like a rock

to the bottom.

Where the rope
between your hand
and his neck

pulls
back and forth

across a vanishing front line.

Where your nervous smile
Says you'd kill to be
anywhere else.

Where the ghosts of spoiled regimes,

prisoner and guard,

still have their way.

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