BOOMBOX
we sat peacefully
you beat us up
we laughed
at you
you beat us up
we took pictures
you beat us up
the world said
no more
more
you beat us up
you told the world
we did the beating
you beat
us up
we took
a beating
we showed the world
our scars, our wound,
our bruises
you beat us up
the world said
that’s enough
we walked into your
high sanctuary
playing
a boombox
boombox boombox
boombox boombox
had
a party
celebrating
your disappearance
AND THE FORESTS
“and the forests will
echo with laughter”
Led Zeppelin
I don’t have a bag to
keep the goodness in
or, thank God,
a bag to let waste products out!
but I do
have the idea
that
if there were
a thing called
spiritual
anarchism
it might
be cool
chatbot spewed out
twenty pages
on the subject
read
some
wrote some
womdering if
there might be a
golden
ripple effect
to be had here
last
of these dystopian days
we will ever see
the forests
eager to agree
AS IF
as if
my little voice
can help you
give you succor
support or comfort
or any
help at all
my little
angry voice
vicious in
it contempt
for all that
stands against
a true rebirth
for
all humanity
a savage, barbarian voice
making a nonsense
of all its learning
deep in
empathy
everything it has learnt
from our cerebral
pagan ancestry
dictated
by all that has
arrived courtesy of the crazy god,
the prototype of
all resurrected gods
god of music, madness, intensity,
ecstasy
democracy and
the vine
JUST
poem is a
thing
one does not just
should not just
staple
together
wind, rain
solar flare
whatever the weather
whether enjambment
can just run
away with it
rhyme
superimpose itself
or superposition you
wave and
molecule in
relation to its pattern
breath blow
like electricity flowing
out
of a jug
magnetic pole, spin
see it be pulled and pushed
hither and thither
mussed up like
coiffure suddenly exposed
to what
storm can do
making it worse, much worse,
and thereby
intriguing reading
touching your chimes as
it wafts through your pagoda
appearing
out of nowhere, inviting
itself for
main course
settling down
prepared for sacrifice
ready
to give its all
pretty much
holding forth
holding the fort
conforming
to the topography
of your tiny plate
at your gigantic table
ZADIE INSISTS
Zadie insists
here lie
weapons of
mass destruction
vehicles
of terror
but I check my words
for the monstrous
genocidal
do not
seem to find them
no sign of bacilli,
nothing that
seriously Geiger counters
no anthrax
lurking
between the lines
no plague about
the launch itself
between the lines
no Bond PPK Walther
with screw-on silencer
unless
I am misguided
mistaken
and you see it, feel it,
smell it, taste it
hear it
all here
planning some small,
strictly limited, quiet
(and quite nonsensical
operation)
to eliminate some person
or persons
in the cause
of poetic self-interest
or the more entirely
delusional inclination
towards
liberating you all
whole of humanity
MAINSTREAM NARRATIVE
(for the students)
the great locomotive
steamed out of the station
built up
momentum
determined to cross
from
ocean to
ocean
but
ran out of track
and crashed
unable to
hold up that weight
on its cardboard wheels
poems 2 die for