poem – Page 173 – poems 2 die for

LINE OF SIGHT

LINE OF SIGHT

you are
missing my poem
it is
not

in your line
of sight

and dumb ordinance
not guided
no matter how
much you drop,
you fire

not
a single hit

and, to labour
the point,
furthermore,
this is not
the terrain for
attac
at high speed

all
turret
and tracks

and so
always begging
to differ

I feel I must ask
who has the firepower
here mustered
to put a dent
in the word, the living
word

surgically, single shot,
put that light

out
in an instant

make
a confirmed kill
for once

in this rubble

over and above
all that is wholesale
decayed, false flag

lying
through its teeth

not
best
for rebuttal

this ricochet from the truth

RUIN

RUIN smooth so smooth we aiming at connection, continuity, threading stars together but across that ancient sea another Troy is burning a people scattered a tale to be told a tale of legend a tragic tale where the gods stood idle those that did not brutally interfere so smooth in this moment of possession and yet we thinking cannot help but think of all that we know of this civilization stacked with heritage and yet centred on all that defines us in these myths and legends of Troy and Carthage Alexandria and the Levant ploughed under, erased by the victors we seek out that history from the depths of their ruin so smooth so smooth the stars that brought us here

OUT OF WORDS

OUT OF WORDS a poem came floating by blessed song and me so ravaged, stunned, out of words whispered to me tales of terrible war of superlatives litanies of pain, of agony and yet promise that somehow, sometime all will be restored the great theatre of the stars still speaking even through the smoke of the sky whispering that the tragedy can turn become our great final human comedy once, at last, we begin to understand so many broken souls wishing to take themselves far away out of words a poem came floating by

STRINGS

STRINGS truth beauty the puppet moves, speaks I pull a few strings not my usual bag to first cause anything but when it talked slanted, funny, out of the side of its mouth I bore a hole through its wooden brain put a shot through its temple when I peepd through the hole not exactly suffused in wisdom or, since you request it, resonant with your symbolism guidimg to the light the overwhelming light

MONSTER

the mirror
is always there

follows you
screams at you
to keep looking

a mirror monster
may just
step
through

and you
sitting with your calculator
using calculus to
broach
the number of atrocities

you need to fit every piece
into the puzzle

see the landscape restored to
how you have always envisaged it
how it
has never been, perhaps
(logic, splitting fragmenting even
as we talk
through this)
will
never be

and the mirror monster at last
smothered under the holy rock
and stone of
countless tiny mountains
of atrocity

so many bones the foundation
of the Everest you are building

it is death zone up there
upon that glorious peak

WRONG

WRONG

you have
us wrong

you do us
wrong

we are not
the head or leg
or foot or
arm of this

thing or
the other

thpugh we may
undsrsand them
better than
you do

understand you too
better than you

understand yourselves

who once gave us
a weapon
to destroy ourselves
.
across a chess board in
the endgame

all of one player
use it
to anniliate all
of the
other

except, by
grace of God and
the smarts in our head

you saw us
met us in court
working together

despite your insults and
cheap shots

so clearly
to your detriment

unless you learn
what we have you learn
would teach you good

the way is bad
but there is another

HERE

HERE

it was not a great play

the Danish constabulary
arresting Hamlet’s
uncle
in the final
scene

bringing him to justice
full force of the law

warm
inside we felt
but harrowing catharsis
was what we
paid for

nothing quite like the blood
soaked stage
that marks the escalation
to biblical proportions

full geometric progression
that marks the fulfiment
of desired revenge

likewise
love restored
Othello and Desdemona
working on jealousy and
self image
in partners’ therapy

or Dionysus giving Pentheus
a book to read
about his divinity help
this stupid
fascistic king

better understand
the god of ecstasy’s ultimate
terrible kindness,
beautiful power
(Nietzsche’s The Birth
of Tragedy
could do this well)

but
none of these cut it
none make the cut
regarding what
we need.

the hours spent in the theatre
must alter time, change
our perception

bring us
to the threshold of
apocalypse at the
insane spectacle

such as

is in flood across

the airwaves
.
as is presented here

LAST LAUGH I BELIEVE

LAST LAUGH I BELIEVE libraries of law rendered irrelevant thanks to an insult of a defence premised on the untenable presented as if it were an ad campaign and all we have now is shark in the tank and biggest gets to eat everything great white nosing its way in speed huge as a submarine think it’s just going to laugh if I proclaim myself to have court protection, have injunction, cease fire, have restraining order catch all those rows of serrated teeth last laugh is his I believe

PHYSICAL CONDITION

PHYSICAL CONDITION a nation of physicists how can I emigrate to them? will there be a test? will I be able to smooth myself in cope with this supremacy? for they live in this world with one foot in another ocean an ocean whose true depth will never be measured my mind struggling to calibrate itself to embrace all possibilities shape myself in line in order to become a natural naturalized citizen only world to my mind has any pretence of any hold on reality

DOOM

don’t
tell us
our propaganda
is shit

don’t tell us
it is anything
but fabulous

to fail to observe
these commandments

will result in you being
accurately smeared
as racist fascist

we have spent many long years
working on our narrative
wondering exactly
how to defeat
and deal
with tripe
like yours

indoctrinate your readers
confuse the
understanding of
your audience

fix every issue
of reception
to give our human evil
all the deception
we deem necessary

establish
a watertight premise
or so
it would appear

and
so we now must warn you
advice you should take
not leave

do not
follow the same old same
old bad
satirical strategy

of hoping to throw enough of
these bad, insultive,incorrect
unrhymed poems

at the wall
hoping, presuming

one will stick

stuck
right next to the spot
where the finger emerges
and commences writing

a text
of commeasurate anger

words
of exact same doom