Machine guns inhabit the rooftops
like hungry crows.
Bullets peck the library
city hall the cobble streets
To the east
the mountains belch dust
as artillery fires into the city
planting the bloom of brown orchids
on the beach apartments
on the Hilton
in courtyards filled
with the shattered rosary of bricks.
People are opening their bodies
for the world to read
the print still wet and so red
it pours out a stoplight
on Broadway and Ninth
in downtown Columbia, Missouri.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem