Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The Wilderness Years

Circe 584

dog god sings heaven

please remove these townsmen from my reign

please reveal that high bone, Adonai

a dagger my body can't escape

a hairy omnipotent

in free discord

in free Ireland

in free fall

a voice siren-like as it

travels south

past the window

clutching the blessed windpipe

on its way down.

Circe 585

the sky collapses

a tent on celebrants

a boozy carbine firing


listen for forgiveness

coming as an insult

a bucket of language in the

face of the incapable

our shoulders are worse

for the carrying of hate

a stunning fist to the face

will put right our ears

as we progress toward

the feast of pure reason

barking along the way.

Circe 586

privately bleeding from influence

our comrades, wronged, flee along the fringe

in expectation of cowardice

they faint from their flight.

They grab at blows and stand in the rain

too gentle to bark

too mad to get what's being said

we stand back and admire our work

smug crowd tugging at air

we were with him

who owns the right to talk

and who insults the day

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

In the Daring Night*

Circe 581

drift in merry night

alongside a pilgrim navy

adorned in terrible epaulettes

gilded history of cuntless god

bearskin missiles

and medaled breasts

draw lines with points of spears

the bands in given armor

play grave music, meanwhile signing

with their toes

a citizen honored by a country of kings

Circe 582

the eyes of girls weave ancient nations

while generations of troops swooping on wings of eagles

deploy among the bastards

these clouds of albatross

these distant voices

echo fables across a distant sea

I should speak to you and together

we should seize the dying moment

and cry out the fucking word

and wring a shout from

the sun's artillery

and find our way into midnight.

Circe 583

laying naked

I lie in unreason

the noisy chalice of hope

turns to smoke before it

reaches my lips

I protect my meager fortune

with that which made me glad

I celebrate the void

as maidens leap from

burning factories

flaming birds who tremble briefly after

achieving the sidewalk below

above the earth the rising towers

indifferent against fear

watch others plunge

and open umbrellas

as a kind of joke

and exchange their thorny epistles

and are glad of their race.

*Van Morrison