5/27/2008
By the piercing
majestic throb
of the gilded horn
A smoking bass
builds a river
that pulses
between the stars
and the
shadowed leaves
someone shouts
into the golden fist
of the advancing battalion
someone laughs
at the three-legged giraffe
whose neck
thrashes
like some vulgar appendage
as it dies
in this circus of the absurd
this congregation of the pure
the pulpit trembles
with liberated purpose
it all exhales
and does not reutrn
when you look for it again.
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6/3/2008
I.
In all the broken mirrors
That I see inside your eyes
A flash begets a shudder
And light kills our vision
Still ringing in your mind
Are the words that fire brings
Comes sweeping on the wind
Is a blast of noise, ignored
The flush of praise and joy
is only impotence.
The wave of angry righteousness
Only the roar of honking squalor.
II.
Images and testimony
Television narrative
Sensation of tragedy
Filtered through a whitewashed dream
A pitiful Kumbayah
An irretrievable plea
The world no longer listens
to anyone who cries
or shouts or dies
The only weapon is
your own
allegiance to a disgraced flag
that hangs its head
and flies
upside down.
help.
III.
The riots of 1967
An unimaginable time
A subdued slaughterhouse
of drugged and blinking bovines
Eating from a trough
of ground up grandfathers
As the bitter yellow smoke
Bursts forth from smokestacks that cough
and the grunting smog of extortion automobiles
las its hands upon our shoulders
Industrialization is dead and gone
Now we build more efficient
Boys and girls
in human factories.