WTF?

WTF?

epic, apocalyptic,
apoplectic

the time of big poetry
has come
and gone

out the window
then papered
over that window
boarded
it up
for good measure

and my good friend
Tommy Eliot, not
entirely sure
whether
he counts as a guru
or merely a catalyst

crying his eyes out
nevertheless
but Tommy think
of ecology
the rains will come
storms to best all
we have so far seen

and then sticks and
stones all we
have, all
we might
aspire to
until magical mnemonics
and formulae
scratching on tablets and

suddenly
all is well with legend
and song
of the new wine dark sea

nothing as yet, unless
ever so implicitly
to denounce
our
recourse to
injustice

evil of greed that leads
to Manhattan Project

enhanced, exalted to
rival supernovae
somehow
there on our doorstep
jimmying the lock
(needing
our consent to
deliver the horror it bears)

aeons before
we arrive at the poetry
ready to
engage
in suicide charges

anything to stop
our complete dumbing down,
our zombification

kill all
the reruns, the voids,
the empty condensations,

go full
dena vu, great return
of sage Friedrich,

mourning the abysmal truth
that no
one now
reads
has original ideas

watches the world
slip out of orbit
without
single

what
the fuck?