After 1945

in an overpowering geography
carved from a century of wars
let us be done with absolutes
the black and white of things

from marble into ruble into skyscrapers
that will turn to ruble, nothing lasts

Rising and falling, there are no great wars,
no tiny wars only horrible ones, each a hateful fist 
in your face slamming into the teeth
of  preconceived ideas making all our pasts
impotent.

No pure race no pure thought no pure people
no pure art no pure poetry no good war
worth destroying  over.

The only war worth dying for is inside of you
and you will know it when it comes to that.