Category Archives: Washington

“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.

“The Watchman’s Left”

“The Watchman’s Left”

The watchman’s left his post and change evades

The vaulted marble halls in Washington and London
As rumours author precedents while the pundits fail their orals and
Her Majesty’s final queries, “How, then, are my trusts mislaid?”
White-gloved hands sign towards leaders of the stage,
But where lies the crown, where the sovereign doubt,
The gleaming precedent that comes to mind to put to rout
The monarch’s question, tales of rising veils and Eastern hymns of rage?
The salt has lost its savour, friend, and Onan cedes ceaselessly a certain infamy.
So comes the Western light to warm the will to fire the kneaded clay of things;
Committees rolling, appeasements merely strolling through the circus rings.
With yesterday’s sun at apex, today’s blue moon unfolds a fragile pigmy
Sky of falling fractals of asides and clips and sales in parsimonious comment:
So much depends upon so many waiting mothers, somewhat dazed, perhaps,
Beside the red Potomac while the white-gloved buglers sound their “Taps.”
I saw a shooting star last night, some unnatural nocturnal flaw
To think on and what it means to be me, or someone
Close to me, or yet again for the fleeting moment to come
Between all our yesterdays and tomorrow’s cosmic clause,
The need to see, a momentary lifting, yes, eyes
Fixed heavenward notwithstanding souls so earthbound
That limpid days fly by with nothing more than profit found
So easily as the press between the ever-weighty lies
And all that we hold dear despised and tossed back again, a tread,
A brisk and tightened cord that strangles spun rapidly from this to that
As with cotton candy, pleasures so easily abandoned, actions flat
Against a plan so ill-conceived that pleasure pleases dread
And leads to unrestrained remorse and very close to bored;
And as I paused, I smiled, and hoped for nothing more.