Tag Archives: poem

COMPULSION

COMPULSION locked and loaded driven and compelled all in lock-step all doing your part to make this truly obscene sometime if there is hope and guilt and shame to be found you will be returned to the pain doubt and uncertainty of your best humble selves without which you will never come to assess how you let your last shred of humanity kill itself in an orgy of murder turned ecstatic joy

AT ROME

AT ROME

they look back
longingly at Rome
whose triremes ruled
the Mediterranean

whose legions kept
control over
much of the
known world

whose slaves rebelled
and were crucified
along the entire
length
    of the Appian Way

by the monstrously
rich General, Marcus Crassus

who would come to
be captured by the Parthians
and fed molten gold

DEAD DOG

DEAD DOG

Truth is a
dead dog

let it rot, let
it putrefact
let it smell
let
   it stink

don’t let them bury it
hide or celebrate
the fact
     it is dead
with their complicity
by their agency

don’t let them cover
it will concrete or
a brass plaque
build a mausoleum
a cenotaph
   the mother
of all monuments

give speeches in its
praise, celebrate its
former life

for if truth is dead
there are no lies
no duplicity
       no hypocrisy.

so
    dead or not let
them not

                    bury truth

let it lie where they slew it
let it stink.

DRAGON

DRAGON

year of the Dragon, sign
of Aquarius

my robot took me out
fishing for nebulae

being a sort-of poet
I will sort-of try to convince
you we did
not return home unlucky

the fish that we caught
though lacking old sci fi fins
pleaded to
          be returned to the cosmos
in pure mathematics

and songs, such sad songs,
that took us through
all the universally audible
and inaudible harmonies

such strange
outlandish scales, she commented
as she and I
calculated what to do
with such a freshly caught
specimen of piscean
intangibility

year of the Dragon, sign
of Aquarius

we added
      a new phenomenon
to our expanding collection

MAS

MAS no more poems of love only poems of pain, grief, rage controlled hatred maybe no more poems at all who has time for poetry when our world is split, divided, blockaded from truth and vital energy? pray that this humble non-descript pièce of scrawl is not the last poem if it be the poem penultimate let the last poem be a great restorative epic restore our faith and love and desire to embrace all of humankind

OWNED

OWNED here in this city where the great founders are buried lies a tomb with flowers a physician lies here a healer, curer of diseases, all human ills pity the disease he could not cure, a sickness that has spread like wildfire infected all in this region was the sickness that owned him that drove him led to his death and burial here out of the light, in this revered resting place