Daily Archives: October 8, 2012

“The Defendant Is a Child”

“The Defendant Is a Child”

The defendant is a child grown thick and heavy
In the womb landing mere inches
From the starting gate.  His guarantees,  his clenched
Fist and a gnashing of teeth, ingrown levies’
Gains against the winds, hidden antecedents as we knew them,
Family damned as were the rule of generations.
Friendships, grave degrees inured to hesitation
Now become misbegotten global monsters, stem
Cells to a thing that spawns all former empires,
Confederations, states, and sovereignty, itself, expired,
Null and void, contumely ripped from ancient boils fired,
Assaulted, violated covenants rent thrice in two, his twin spires
Levelled to the ground, and he declares that bread is now unleavened.
Mothers gasp as he praises God for what took place on 9/11. Even an Alexander finds his borders within etherial folds endemic to any practicing god
But God.  He has no need to practice,  no emphatic caul  to breach
With his own fingers and the limits of his teeth.
The Macedonian finds no outlines made by footsteps or the trace of toes
In sands he’s called his own  (as well he might)  because
He finds no greater force or urgency other than his own breath within this world
To thwart his purpose, no! nor greater banner  to unfurl
To curb a multitude of sins, no blatant flaws
Within him to cauterise the blood of his own afterbirth because he stood
Before a mother and a father both circumspect within themselves
Gainsaying natural selection in the wake and weight of countless shelves
Of history, both wore laurels in a world no better than it should
Be sated upon earthly immortality.  This Dhul-Qarnayn points to the sky,
At last and says, “It’s yours! By all the gods!” and dies.  Minor prophesies of course arrest intentions while the majors
Send condolences from the playing field to the drawing boards.
Who doubts the hoards
Of wisdoms summoning all wizened pagers
To alarm and preëccupation at the water cooler, the watchman to his bed
While even leaders meet on holidays? They do not rest,
These Olympian prodigies  amassed in pods and dressed in their egregious best
Within the clouds of baseless hubris as corrosives bleed the lead
That lines the public coffers and endless goblets. Petrels in a line dance elect
To withhold judgement while their instincts never flag in downward spirals
Of loopholes, pernicious soot that lags behind the countenance of viscous viral
Stars grown cumbersome in the spasm of sunrise, now redundant in the deck
That stacks the wheels of Vegas and the halls of Washington.  The meek
Inherit all the earth while what they breathe is but a notch above the ideals of Gormenghast and wonders of the noxious gas of mass deceit.