For Brendan Constantine

Tattoos on your skin.
Isn’t there enough
pain in the world

Children draw bombs
falling from the heavens.
No human rights, no homes left,
no comfort for them.
The sky has fallen down.
Parents weep.

I too have cried
for the loss
in my life.
No anonymity,
too much trauma.
I am dying.
You are a

Children draw bombs.
You tattoo.
I have many piercings.

editors note:

Compassion for all who have suffered pain; there are no exemptions. (We welcome Chrissie to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets with this accepted poem. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

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