Human rubble in scattered piles
a stretched cord twisted on the ground
an empty bloody womb lies formless
a small arm alone on the soil like a beggar seeking alms
nearby a human baby’s head is turned
towards the missing limb,
is it but another wag the dog’s “tale”
from a collage of heated skirmishes?
A gray-bearded old man
with glaucoma eyes and a toothless grin
sees shadows of passersby
his words no longer recognizable,
and miles away in a perpendicular city
a model poses against a backdrop of shimmering light at dusk
only to return to a bejeweled loft of pleasure,
a business couple sit in a coffee shop sipping a latte
entertaining their values,
and students chew their tongues while
politicians gather to discuss their interests and costs,
international bankers count their money
through the weapons exchange of wealth,
and the communities of military and intelligence play
a historical board game of chess.
In a separate place the furrowed brows of a man
who prefers to golf
is caught in an inexplicable moment’s worth of pondering
the measure of a man is in the distance,
before a key is tapped
and a call is made, behold the “truth”
the most intimate and familiar sound to a child’s ear
is forever lost.
In the form of a metal phallus
shrapnel semen, nurture-less
a silent, tragic cry echoes in the mind.
An allegory from the book of Genesis
wasn’t Eve the maternal metaphor of all
that ultimate expression of meanings –
fertile, childbearing, origin, source, compassion, love, smile?
To be the Mother of All is futile for the metallic penis
for to kill is antonymic that leaves no descendants
except ideas should a woman and a man survive,
the bodily remains of madness, folly, arrogance and vanity
do leave their traces, but will there be a next time?
*Also, posted in Rhythms