22 Couplets Contra Discordia

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

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