H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

DAVID COPE

Abu Ghraib

the prisoner wears a black pointed hood; he stands, arms

extended as in crucifixion, wires attached to his hands:

who set him up like this? who set him up? what childhood,

what parents, neighbors, knew those who could snap this

memento from the cage? & here, a grinning man, arms crossed,

a woman leaning forward, laugh over prisoners jammed

together naked, heads in hoods. this man and this woman-

what hearts did they have as they returned to silent rooms,

alone? or this young woman who smiles, thumbs up, fingers pointing down

at the cock of a hooded prisoner, hands tied above his head––

already she claims she was forced, others were responsible, yet

now the prisoner cannot live in his own home town; shamed.

here, the corpse has a bandage under his right eye, agony stamped

in his dead face: he is wrapped in cellophane, packaged in ice.

in congress, rumsfeld stammers & stalls, suggesting darker

tales to come: what is it, now, to call oneself American?