SUCK THE BLOOD FROM STONES

                               SUCK THE BLOOD FROM STONES

the ghost of unwritten poems

and a poet must make his bones

amid the scattered and shattered

relationships

money spent and money lent

and wasted

and still the words elude me

empty houses on the prairie

inhabited by the hopes for next year

playing the tinny sounds

of bogus tunes of glory

about graveyards ten thousand miles away

lonely and unvisited

Did they ever really exist

now that those who mourned

have passed into history

we are all refugees from somewhere

from the spaces we tried to occupy

but never could

the cruelty and injustices

fester in history

as if they happened yesterday

no matter how many years

have elapsed

justice is elusive

and an illusion

and the lack thereof

for those who have lost

and only survive to try

and right the wrong

in plaintive song

what was free now has a price

and don’t expect anything nice

because no one actually owns anything

and those demanding payment

for occupying  nothing

are the parasites

making their bones

trying to

suck the  blood from  stones

JWL