Poets against the war




In your wretched holes
where you're barracaded counting your accounts
you're fearful

on your sick bed
paying for comforting embraces
you're fearful

in your churches
where you mix chants with checks
you're fearful

on your streets
in your cars
you're fearful

in your house
with thorned lights
you're fearful

in the restorant at your table
eating ill-gotten meat
you're fearful

fear is your suit
fear is your nation
fear is your fellow