The sails unsettle in the wind Finding their invisible origins-- Small fear goes out along the lines Tremulous to the masthead, The masthead bound with iron And set into the leaning keel Translates each impulse into action: To one action, always the same: forward!
Snaffled cuffs link our hearts in chorus-- On baffled dream-seraglio of houris-- Oh never to awake from this bout of sleep Though shadows squander themselves and sunlight creeps. These eves are deep that shelter lonely eyes Turned inward, bitter till self-horrified-- The odalisque tamed by dusky charms Untongues the timid with her beckoning arms.
Daniel J. Weeks and Gregg Glory
The Smithsonian's dusty trumped-up American Bald Glares glass-eyed from its cement stem Flightless adherent to its typeset caption "This specimen typifies..." White-cloth greatness fitted to a character-trait-- Gestures grand enough for "something" Parodied into "plausibility." Daring airs Are glass-encased, and grounded goes the mobile soul Once limber and viscous as a spiky rose. All's choral, Collegial lean-togethers, mediocre ochers Detailing a dulling sunset-- Not the hazardous edge of new dawn, Clouds, clouds "by the skyful," The wee eye a-glitter, an observatory dome open to the cosmos And more. The great green agate door of Oz Stands pried wide, stoppered open. Shall we fall into the verdant velvets, Eat the wheats sizzling in their millions? Come, here's my hand, toad-wet, willing-- Here's the heart-mouth pledge-- and the plunge, the plunge that mimes the promise mum. Down we float careening reagents ripped to splinters and sailing anyhow onwards.
Congress sick with second guessing Jessies No firm hand on the tiller No mettle in the men left at home Only an orgy of angst Belittlement of betters Twist turn and angling for advantage Small speech of exiting No largesse of existing No reasoning among the sissies Just the vile knifefight for the voter. The troubled insincerity of these actors in the round, The corpulent self-indulgence of the American Left. "The president proposes, the congress disposes." Say the vivid idiots believing themselves Meaty deities in monkeysuits.
Carloads of laughing fatsoes Follow Rockerfellers to the rallying grounds Laughing falsetto Apropos of nothing. Contumelious Carter, crass gasbag, Pats the padded DNC box-seat for Lordly Moore Smarming his way to fame On lies and mallomars.
Saddam's boys, fed lion's hearts And bad philosophy, were sent into the rape room Under P.S. 106, Baghdad, Same ground that saw a Ninevah arise Same wide-eyed folks that made A few of civilization's unending things, Set golden bird upon a ruby bough to sing. "Not in my name" shall we set, we The people of Hamilton and Adams Not for such names, nor for our own, Forgotten since our civics' texts Have gone to rot as assuredly as Rome's poems Burned by Visigoths to watch "Vandal Idols" on a commandeered TV in the fumbled coliseum. "Not in my name" shall these be set free. Not by us, the people of Lincoln and Paine, Not with our bullets of inalienable rights, Nor our hatred of tyrants, Not by our strength, our success, Not by our sure hand in a selfish world, Not by our open palm shall these be set free. These same who crouched in a shit pit Or were shot for sheer sport. Power plus a few roaring lies And arabist France is your firm friend, Scoring oil off of marsh arabs' misery, Breathing grievance and flattering tyrants alone in their ego-lovely palaces of misapplied plaster, walls caulked with exquisite fear, real memories of friends, father or sister suddenly dragged out at 1 AM and shoved into the State's Mercedes and returned in ribbons, eyeless, legless, earless, hymenless, or not at allÖ. The fear of faces too used to fear, Same faces Stalin made in Russian clay Holding his neighbors' feet to the fire Or cinching raw hands in unforgiving wire. "Not in my name" shall these be made free. Same Saddam, god-damn, Who put a hit out on a retired president And called Kuwait his "13th Province," Shattering desert quietude with lies, Living detached as a NYT op-ed writer From the eternal verities. Same Saddam, god-damn, Who paid suicide bombers' families to live on quince And retire to palm-shaded villas After sending Sonny on to see Allah; Same suiciders who put a two-fer hole In New York's presumptuous skyline: Front teeth fell out square with 3,000 lives As jerks in Jersey City cheered And Palestinians rah-rahed in parade, Making Gaza glamorous once again, full of light, full of hope, full of song, As know-nothing Americans knew, just knew It was all our fault anyway; Not even giving gashed Jihadis credit for their kill, not really. Same Saddam, god-damn, Ö. I can't go on without respite, without tonic, A cool cloth for my lips, hot cotton Laid on my ears, much abused, Carbon darkness for my eyes, my eyes That see in seemless verity One nation, under God, Riddled with raconteurs of the Apocalypse Who never missed a payment on their Saab. Allah, Allah, Allah, Forgive these few, these free, These blind men holding diamonds Who think they're weighted with bricks; Forgive these few their compassionate disaster Who see sorrow in a tyrant's swat, How sad his up-bringing must have been; Forgive these few their huddled asses Who buy the pap and propaganda of the feckless press. Allah, Allah, Allah, Sear me with second-sight enough to see What comes of free people with no will to be free; Who shrinky-dink and containerize the globe After pacifying panzered fascists, Who set the Technicolor sights of Hollywood in every human eye And take air-conditioned flights To the winds' four corners And hear half-good English spoken there From some kid wearing Adidas And yet do not believe Fallujah's on their subway stop or Kabul is come to Washington. Forgive these few, O Allah. Allah, Allah, Allah, Walla walla walla Washington
Dear Lord, help the heathens to keep their federal mandates
off of my state. Please, Lord, let them
become aware that just because the federal penny flows from the blue states to
the red states that that does not give them the power to make us join their
progressive coalition of the bribed and the coerced. Please, Lord, let them blue staters realize
that before that federal penny flows from the blue states to the red states via
Washington D.C. that penny first flows from our backs to their banks. Please, Lord, I am tired of doing the bidding
of Lyndon Baines Johnson, and Hillary Clinton, and Ted Kennedy, and unelected
judges who pick up the legislative pen that able but lazy legislators have cast
aside in favor of windsurfing. Let not
the least accountable branch of government hold sway over the most
accountable. Oh, please, Lord, I beseech
How God hates a freeman. How suffering is his every rainbow --Even when we poor ants Find some infinitesimal way of being free He sends a scourge, an insanity amongst us --Sudsy heads in turbans hard hands anxious to cruxify ready hammers and shiny nails suicide bombers in clean veils no dirt under their fingernails ready to make love to God The God who, ironically enough, Is killing us in black batches, By blood-mouthfuls, killing And shaming us with his sharp scourge --so clean, so new--
A bold bolt of rose lightning Bids me sizzling its chosen bowman be, A filial Philoctetes Despite of our history. So few know the maiming game Half so well as swollen love can tell; Knotted lots of condemned confederates Go rolling down the slay-yard line, Conveyered to red hell and devastation, Again. What redeems the fugitive from his red pen? (Funny, nes pas?) How escape the mirrored Mall to slow roast in the hopeless Wilderness Again? Monet's mash of fabulous figments hand-ground to red renown.... Cezanne's carnival of pink icebergs sailing house-high intra-Ardennes.... Beethoven's beaten TAA-DUMP, or Baudelaire's lurid la-lahrrr.... All are the agony of gangsters Throttled or thrilled by moment's one consciousness, Exhorted from the dumpy swamp That beats and retreats in the fetid chest-- O soully broken brothers! Taken in angina and angst, past mists To see pantsless God Our Father And never again live well as worms. His love has hoovered your harrowed bowels, His meaning's memes flay mincemeat from your lives, Embattled brethren of the happy pit, Giggling piglets skinned in velvets Wanton wannabes Voltaged with vim, Summed nothings who see The glory of Him. Alpha and Omega, faith precedes Phantom efficiencies of famine and feast, Trust in the somethings our nothings provide, Vomiting vacuums for lebensraums, Aching for spaces no spaceman divines, Only oh aum ah oh our holy um Can freight the frigate We sail to red gates That frame the lonely bowman Asleep in zero's nonman's land triggerfinger itched by lightning
Blind Homer in his handicapped parking plot, Driving eye-dog at the steel wheel, Steel will in the passenger's seat-- Homer who haunted the agora Shilling for shekels his white whale tale. Superman in his icy citadel Pacing the slatted blanks that mirrored, then hid His moroser meditations. Soulful foreign exchange student Putting on parsed phrases of a play: hanging a mirror-frame in stage-space, Audience made the mercury backing To a soul in self-discovery.