William B. Burkholder Writing

For as the way things are, we are in tune with the way.

And she began to laugh, muttering as she left, �Shinoswee, shinoswee,�

A chain of free written poetry

She looked at him, her blond hair wet and limp, with sad eyes, and burnt mascara running she slipped over the edge.

An unstable hunger

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And what of the dawn, when the sun rises and night is gone. What then starlight?

She sharpens her blades on pavement streets, Chrome reflecting in vengeance lights.

"Powdered milk and cluster bombs, the weaning of a civilization."

we teach violence to our selves and to our children, why then do we expect anything different from them.

Poetry