Vomit your silence
Into a bucket full of tears
Tears for sons
Sons who presently absent
Once shone on the dreams of their mothers.
Mothered by now murdered mothers,
These girls are now mothering bastards
Breast-feeding by genetic compulsion
The stained innocence born of violent sowing.
I will not discuss you, bookman
And tell how your words only knit garments
For roses and peacocks and fine queens
I will not say how your pen
Does not move conscience to action —
Excuse me, what of the dying living in prison?
Empty your silence, yes, empty it!
Sorry, the bucket has excreted the tears
Your screams are now melodious noise
Weeping for tears at peace today
With the rotting eyes that once shed them.