On the Brink

On the Brink

Merchants of war, you hide in what you wish
were called, “the Mansions of Heaven,”
while a trigger is squeezed to death on the street.

I have a bird that whistles, but it doesn’t stop
me from crying. I heard some students
were crushed for walking in each other’s dreams
at a love-in. Too bad I couldn’t be there with them.

I’m a dada bird on the brink of extinction,
need to get away from Oxford,
Harvard, Yale, and Princeton.


© Sergio A. Ortiz 2008

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