Above all, pity for Hebe, apple juice soaking her skirts
Who wiped up after the tables turned, reflecting.
Not fit for worship she
Who twisted Euphorbius’ spear in the guts of Patroclus:
When a bunny man and his centaur pet say
They know not why they did – Believe them
And ask whose hand then
Lit the millennial fuse
Or look to whose hand now holds
The boathouse on Jura
Immolating fifty thousand score
Made the matter of riches into smoke
And robbed the arm of men levers
To move far earths and feed their young
To shake the cold walls of granite palaces
Distant now yet never beyond sight
Not comely for comedy
Who breaks a City’s walls and seeds traps in the ruin.
Playing in green grass under a nuclear canopy
The children of the traumatised
Emotional locomotion dancing
Bind time with solvents
But far away black hands turned black from work
Turn black again: oil, napthenic acid and spermaceti, ash
Hunting the children of Cu Chi through orange clouds
A ruby star dense under the underground –
To flatter Leary as trickster, traitor, faithless, fool
Overlooks his concordance, conviction, contrition to West Point
A pantomime who played panthers motley
betrayed Lennon, a succubus skulking at the foot of the bed
Cowards bellow loud smiles at Thornley’s lies:
About the elms which lined the arrowhead edge
Tipped with hollow mercury
Struck the world king dead
Ministered by jackal laughter
Turned whimpering curs
Whose long anger unburied, half a century
Fell on the children of their children
The psychic star spat psychic come onto the murderers’ palms
Rubbed together, licked clean, panting
Deep bass bark of data from behind the moon
The lamentations of generations next accuse
The High Priests of freedom who left the world naked
And Caliban’s choke chain in the grip of the mad Duke.
For Concordia
insurgentautonomousinvisiblism 