The clouds and the stars didn't wage this war br the brooks gave no information br if the mountains spewed stones of fire into the river br it was not taking sides br the raindrop faintly swaying under the leaf br had no political opinions br br and if there were a house br filled with backed-up raw sewage br or poisoned those who lived there br with slow fumes, over years br the houses were not at war br nor did the tinned up buildings br br intend to refuse shelter br to homeless old women and roaming children br they had no policy to keep from roaming br or dying, no, cities were not the problem br the bridges were non-partisan br the freeways burned, but not with hatred br br Even miles of barbed-wire br stretched around crouching temporary huts br designed to keep the unwanted br at a safe distance, out of sight br even the boards, that had to absorb br year upon year, so many human sounds br br so many depths of vomit, tears slow-soaking blood br had not offered themselves for this br The trees didn't volunteer to be cut into boards br nor the thorns for tearing flesh br Look around at all of it br br and ask whose signature br is stamped on the orders, traced br in the corner of the building plans br Ask where the illiterate, big-bellied br women were, the drunks and the crazies, br the ones you fear most of all: ask where you were.