it seems, in each and every
version of this story
the children were slain
crawling into their nearly dead mothers' arms
snickering faceless soldiers were heard saying
if you incapacitate but not kill the women
the children will come and we can finish off
the breeders and the next generation
most of us in the Western world
and America especially, have no idea
how conditions
created by the war industry
force humanity to its knees
we now have pollster clown politics
and nary a thought of reading
much past what the fuck can you do for me ...
Aleppo still burns and we have no clue what to do
other than to try to understand in our last breaths
are we cultivated fungi
are we to be fed shit
and remain in the dark ...
in between the
dreams we taped to trees
we waited for the insects
I met a four and five, they said,
eventually you will become
nesting dolls giving up form
to be or not to be
and at that point
you will be cast
as a figure head macabre
lacking or packing
a probability poisoned
by your handlers, that is
if they cannot properly groom
a marksman patsy in time ...
(cue the William Tell overture here)
meanwhile, we will probably continue to surmise
without reading and most importantly, listening
to what is around us I am stocking up on
nickel ferrite hats to combat the transmissions of evil
and just in case
also solar generators
when the shit hits the fan
to run my record players ...
rake pews fake views faux lining velvet tells it
as an I Love You to end every poem ...
and you the reader will go on
seeking dreams any way you can
because let's face it
being more than human
requires a whole lot
of crawling on all fours
and a tendency to lean
into a lonely elan
while in the pause after reading
a poem may not quite understand
but had enjoyed the ride
none the less ...
EJR ©
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