Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Dead on a Ghost Island

He'd been whitelined that night,
Crossed with viscous, corporation paint,
Ignored by machine and driver in the calm,
Between the rushing lanes of traffic,
Where slip and main roads join,
He is a grotesque contortion, bent,
After some unknown incident or accident,
Perhaps a shortcut-taking drunk,
Directionless in limited visibility,
Or a pathetic, minor criminal,
Jettisoned at speed by partners,
For some slight imagined slight,

This is theatre, authorities as actors,
Diagonal cars in Uniform as roadblocks,
The blank-faced, crouching officers,
Rifling, examining, collecting,
Are trained for this, inured to this,
Their minds detached from minds detached,
Retrieving names to bring in relatives.

In other news ...

... David failed his scripture class,
Fell asleep on hot, sweet days,
And therefore missed the point of mercy,
And by default, compassion and forgiveness,
It makes him gag, accepting other views,
All those different gods and monsters,
Rare, ethereal visions of the otherworld,
Give him a gun and he’d wipe out variation,
Any slight idea of alternative ideas,
The great converging of philosophies,
At last to overcome uncaring evolution,
(Yet another lie in David’s world),
And he is deserving of our ignorance,

The whole, damned World at David’s feet,
The rushing obeisance of cars and trucks,
Is my momentary delusion of revenge,
For all his calls to bomb and plunder,
In the name of Capital and reaction.
The landless king and fool of liberty,

But all this world is only in my head,
And I forgive and resurrect at will,
David and this dead drunk in the road,
Made equal by nothing more than DNA.

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