Tickertape parades streaming with anger and sorrow
The gross and global injustice and always the lies, damn lies…

To write a poem is to indulge myself --
My pain my sorrow? -- it's just not right.

A man in Iraq becomes hysterical,
His three babies lie in tattered rags,
Their small bodies fit into one crude coffin.

A beatiful teenage girl lies battered, shocked and aching with pain.
One eye gouged with shrapnel, her entire family dead

In Palestine, a preganant woman is crushed when bulldozers
knock down the walls
Her husband hears her calling for help, but he can't pull her out
There's no phone, no ambulance
Her little daughter curls up next to her and cries
Then husband and daughter watch her die….

A sensitive and loving girl vows to help
To stop the bulldozing of houses.
Her friends are watching Britney videos while she flies
around the world
To stop the bulldozing of houses

She calls out to the driver. "I'm standing here as an observer
I beg you, for the love of God, to stop. No one here is hurting you,
no crime was committed, a doctor lives in this house…."
The bulldozer shifts into gear, growling with savage rage.
It runs Rachel Corrie down into the ground, then runs back again.

Rachel Corrie is dead.

Poems are bullshit.

Stop the hate.