Saturday, May 07, 2005

No Verbs

No verbs. No action.
The blue Wyoming sky and
the fence.

The scarecrow: no scarecrow.
The fence.
A human? A boy? A scarecrow?
His hair. His chest in motion.
No, no scarecrow. A boy, alive!
The fence.

Hands, thumbs-up, rope.
Bindings. Blood.
Cakes of blood,
except for his tear tracks
through the blood.
The fence.

The cold. The night,
with stars and moon.
The sun of day. The cold.
The fence.
And cakes of blood.
The discovery. The shock.
The horror. The disbelief
The fence.

The perpetrators.
The hatred and motivation.
The bludgeoning fists,
rifles and pistol butt.
The fence.
The binding. The beating.
The abandonment.
Shackles of rope and,immobile,
the fence.

The journey homeward
12:53 a.m. October 12, 1998.
Laramie. Sparkling Laramie.
The fence.

Compassion
for those
without compassion.
Hate Crimes.
Angels.
Human kindness.
Candlelight. Vigils.
Points of light
around America
but not Bush's kind.
God’s word: Love.
Finally.
Yet, still,
the fence.


No more walls.
No more ideologies,
Nor hatred, nor bigotry.
Only shrines.
Only monuments.
Changes in mindset.
Political action.
Enlightenment.
Peace. Love.

No more fences.
For Matt's sake.

Copyright 7 May 2005. Revised 13 May 2005. Written the night of having viewed "The Laramie Project" presented by Durham School of the Arts Mainstage Productions at the Black Box Theater, Durham, NC.

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