Or perhaps because painting is free - forgive me, I forgot- It costs the painter his life, Or it costs that soldier a bullet or two To silence this Palestinian clamor. I imagine him in his uniform, layered in armor- We cannot relinquish or let go of any of our killers- Watching small boys draw with rough hands: Cries, supplications, war, love- A bride and groom beneath a sky of rockets. So we celebrate: dabke, a wedding dress, Palestinian thobes, And rocketworks instead of fireworks. The sight provokes him; he loads his gun:
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