peace is not
sterile gauze, a snowflake, an insipid dove
it's feisty and rich
don't let the war boys hog it all
the spit, the spice and the glamour
peace is potency
reaching and sprouting
budding and branching
it's lifting things
a good scrap
a hot wrestle and a cool scrub
cleansing and hope.
peace is the empowerment of dust
whispers of the song before origin
as out of seed
the cathedral of the body builds itself
it's spasms and metamorphoses
the vertigo
of mind dancing
with the fecundator
to the music of need.
peace
is little orange bees
spotted ladybugs on white campions
late june with a stink of linden
prickles and burrs
it's wild grapes in a bramble
a tough nut
lovers churching
through the night, at noon, in the morning
a juicy comeuppance
for the grim suppressors.
peace
is for the star-biters and the rooted
don't be dainty
go at it
hammer and tong.
peace is not purity
limp, neat and dry.
it's sexy.
-cilfford browder
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