May it Never Be

Steel towers of cold metallic-grins posses me

In a cruelly awkward embrace, the caress

of anti-glory, of grey walls of ash.

Authors of this age are dried-lettuce wrong-

—their philosophy, that is—

For we do not advance with these paint-by-numbers.

Digression. Digression.

American “dream” tromping as elephants on parade.

Digression. Digression.

Ha. The Law was broken for a sense of peace.

For steel towers of cold metallic-grins.

For the anti-glory.

Steel towers of cold metallic-grins possess me
In a cruelly awkward embrace, caress me as

compacted truths slink into Darkness-suitcase

As streetlight corners dim, the Truth suppressed

In taxi-trunk, in fantasy, in sci-fi, and pulpits nationwide.

For “all the world’s a stage”*

Digression. Digression.

Put on your measured gaze, tonight you play the fool.

Seems Jonah’s got a friend.

Ha. The Law was broken for a sense of peace.

For truths convenient-packed in suitcase-Dark.

For the anti-glory.

Steel towers of cold metallic-grins possess me

In a cruelly awkward embrace, the caress

of frozen coals in the midst of cricket-summer.

We

of this fury

are dried-lettuce

wrong.

Ha. The Law was broken for a sense of freedom.

May it never be.

In the dried-up cold of darkness,

Sometimes mountains rise.

With a zenith for a song—

Arresting the attention of the angels,

of the demons,

And of the best of men.

*William Shakespeare’s As You Like It, 2.7.139