We were drifting into war. There never had to be any special reason.
We, drifting into war; married and divorced, looking for nothing more: and nothing was apparent. Everything happened simultaneously.
This was no mere divergence of opinion, not a simple differing between various souls; this conflagration of passions buried too long and misdirected in a fatal simplicity.
A necessary tension embraced us all. Immediately prior to the release there existed a sense of community, still. As if a shell, or canopy of night were drawn over the world.
That became the diamond-hard pressure; exerting its scroll across the history held too close within the heart of the human animal once again.
We were drifting into war. This never implied any sort of vigilance or lack, only a sense of communal conscience.
So, don’t tell me. Don’t haste.
Prose poems that are a paean to Musicians, Writers, Artists, & Wingnuts…. from a review..”Acid wit, deep insight, humor, powerful metaphor, intelligence…. A smooth ride on a bumpy road, with side trips into unseen hollows of the human experience…. What else do you need to know? An excellent read, worth sharing far and wide… More, please….”
“deanjbaker is our poet of the future.”