by Wick Fields
Before the missiles come
Let us pay tribute
To the perfect androids we almost were
Who dreamed perfect deathless dreams
And never reached into other hearts
To find fault in a machinery so complex
That 5,000 years of programming
Could end with a flash.
Oh the flames Whipping wild at city gates In Rome and Beijing and Cleveland Frightening the old Half cold in their graves And surrounding the young Half hung by their age. Oh the flames Lapping low at
by Wick Fields Every night I'm revived From the day's incursions By the language of the dead Because I'll tell you this No army can march Over Raymond Carver's mercy.
by Wick Fields There isn't enough time To express the wholeness of things There is only time To survive the blast.