A Question About Mourning
A gentleman with a fetish
(This most, if not all, of us share)
For Shangri La, was empathizing
With those bayoneted over there
By few others, like them, like us,
Leaving a question in my mouth: Why are distant horrors easier To mourn than those closer at hand?
My Poems
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Arse Poetica
Death is effortless, you know.
Last night is dead with
The years before it
When Big Sea came with its
Bellyful of grinning sharks.
Then the camps before that. Herr Kommandants frog marching Through the alleys of Baghdad, Beslan, Birmingham, Saigon, Soweto, Siberia, Srinagar, of course of course Graca And Ashwitch, waving their cloaked Flags of boneskull, numbskull, skullbuggery.
Living you ask? Living is simple boss. Living is straining against the leash Bow! Bow! Booowe! Bowbowing against Falling as the radium green lotus Heart opens, opens in the chest.
My Poems
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At Dawn
Waking up years after
A night of winter rain
I see you among
The shadowy shapes of birds Wheeling against the backlit sky Still awkwardly trying to fly away.
My Poems
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