Saturday, March 16, 2013



Among so many atrocities of human and inhuman nature,
what forbidden grace adorns the suicide or the ballet of the drunk
obliterated on razorwire wine at nightfall
as the abandoned bottle exchange for empties and grails
prays for rain to wash the acid from a young girl’s eyes
who wanted to learn to read what everyone else
had forgotten about taking advantage of their fear of death
to remember how beautiful the world once was
when the fireflies emerged like Venus in the dusk
growing brighter as the darkness deepened
into riotous starmaps playing charades
with a bestiary of antique zodiacs in the crowns
of the black walnut trees whose mere presence
was enough to astound anyone. How once you could
open a milkweed pod like the womb of a fortune-cookie
and find a Monarch butterfly inside like infinite riches
in a small room, a wishing well that wasn’t
some kind of tarpit that had just swallowed the moon
like a cosmic glain light years before the dragons
were allowed to carry firearms but the mercy of the rain
that used to fall like cool tears on their scorched wings
like leaves in a drought, without putting the green flames
of their fires out, was strictly forbidden by the greed
and undue influence of the lustreless arrogance
of very mediocre men who ate like a plague of locusts
in a field of genetically modified stargrass
that blighted the wheat in the hand of the Virgin
like seeds of light the wind was forbidden to sow
and poisoned the bread we used to break with each other
like black dwarfs of ergot on the taboo spores
of a bad mushroom trip in the tourist trap
of the mind blowing Eleusinian mysteries on crack.

Apocalyptic opulence runs before the storm
like a herald of the rich and ungovernable
with a message to the poor who can sense
what’s coming like the angel of death to the door
by the way it doesn’t eat what’s put before it
like a crumb of flesh and blood off their own plate
they’re still willing to share, in part, like a crust
from the empty cupboard of their heart
with any stranger who’s come in the night
off the road, asking for directions to Wall Street
like the parable of the man who ran to Aleppo,
like the market share of a corporate nemesis
who insisted upon their personhood like a stem cell
that lied to itself posthumously in anonymous board rooms
where issues of life and death were settled like executive coffins
that closed the book on the matter as if
there were no more to be said to the press
than the obituaries they released like doves they read from
about how much damage had been done
to their reputations by the protests of the vociferous dead.

One false idol pushes another idiotic ideology down
and there’s a domino effect of apostate holy wars
that throw their children like strawdogs
into the bonfire of the inanities to bear witness
to the act of being worthy of their futureless afterlives
like the strangle-hold of tapeworms, the dry rot of termites,
the methane vapour trails of maggots in the dungheaps
and mass graves covered in snow like grey hair
on the skull of the body politic that cuts its nose off
to spite its face if anybody contest its right
to eat the eyes out of the roadkill like blow flies
as if there were no greater vision of life than a body bag
wrapped in a flag, placed in a hole, with the stone of the world
resting on its chest to keep it from rising again
like smoke from the family hearth they buried it under.

On the borders of Rome, just before it fell
the hungry Visigoths were compelled to sell
their children into slavery for a haunch of dogmeat
that used to sit under the emperor’s table at Ravenna
and beg for scraps that fell like the superflux of gluttons
to the bestial floor like pork in a budget proposal
to let the poor eat their own and the rich grow fat
on the cannon fodder at the front lines of the war on poverty
like cattle prods and firing squads in an abattoir,
political bloodbanks feeding on the needs of the people
like lobbyists and leeches, ticks and invasive species
of mosquitoes, flies, drones, killer bees and conservatives
that suck the light out of the life, heart, mind, spirit, will
of humans to go on surviving their own exit
as mechanical confabulations of metallic stem cells
with micro chips for Hox genes, oversee the mass extinction
of life grown suspicious of its own food supply,
the air, the water, the sun, the earth, the sky, each other
like a hive of surveillance cameras keeping their third eyes
on the dying wildflowers by the polluted mindstreams
hydrophobically foaming at the mouth of their own headwaters
like an industrial strain of rabies eating its own rotten heart out
in a chaotic rage of conditioned consciousness nemetically resigned
to its own lies, to the intelligent design of its own demise.


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