MARS

MARS

Ah, Mars
you red-eyed god
of grain
    and guns

here on the farm I smell
your secret cordite,
perpetual war
    concord, discord
forever
   in battle

circle of being, conflict
of life

    the trees, the corn
all
   akin to spears

as they stand in phalynx
tall and proud

except

      that is not it
at all

this is the shape of thinking,
seeing that you bring

reducing to raw red, rampant
green, crude
primary
       colours and basic shades

as if it were all one
monochrome chess
                           games

with its millions of moves
and permutations

light and dark on
       opposite sides of the board

split from each other
                drawn up in opposition
files and ranks

a most
    feudal arrangement