Sticky Blood

Sticky Blood

To one who sits up in the bed
With not a taste or shred
Of gore –
Who through the television news,
Views films and ads
About jihads:
It’s sticky blood that seems to her
The real leitmotiv of war.
She sits and thinks, “How can they not
Envision vats of blood – sticky blood
That must be there and everywhere
As evil glowers –
Evil’s crimson smashed-down flowers?”
“Blood ran in the streets” a powerless cliché.
It’s doesn’t run, it also sits: coagulating
Drying clots, a limb that rots;
Slaughtered meats;
Corpses wrapped in sticky sheets
And babies dead at sticky teats,
The bleats of bleeding, dying heaps
Hosed down, a sticky tide.
We get to see cremation spots
And quickly dug interment plots,
Massacre called war, the lot
Of sticky blood that once was hot,
Rhythm-live; a living movement
Wondrous structured – and inside.

©Sticky Blood 98.10.10
Our Times, Our Culture
Arlene Corwin

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