Parliament

Through this fog
the handsome killers walk:
this country
has its share of common sense.

In this flight
the moon a pus eye:
her hot blood
has no color for us.

You don’t say
what there was to explain:
enough of beauty and the world,
I don’t care what they do.

©Dean Baker 

https://www.amazon.com/Dean-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

©All Rights Reserved deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

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©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

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