(In the aftermath of Charleston)
To each bullet a heart,
One drop of blood yet
unspilled by hate not fate–
They say the day stole away
They lie! To try but fail
fail to try? Tell me why or why
Not. And while we rot, our thoughts go
out to all and sundry,
a laundry-list of new neglect.
Who selects the few that do?
The few that don’t? A brazen trumpet
sounds the note: The sun has set;
we have not yet