In the town
at the edge of the barrens
rich goat herders
pay rotund town criers
to shout from their rooftops
the war has come
the war has come.
Four lazy angels
rest by the shore
and care nothing for the war;
two snuggle close
to a goat
with long horns
and black cloven feet
it bays
at the encroaching night;
the faces of these two angels
are like young children
playing hooky from school
or a man
who skips the vote;
the third angel
wades into the water
and glances coyly
at someone on the shore
while she playfully grabs
a long necked crane by the tail
and catlike yanks it down;
the fourth angel
with her feet wading into the sea water
hugs a rock
and nestles her head against
a resting owl
with mischievous eyes
she smiles knowingly
as it is she
who has beguiled the others
into their own desertions;
the long necked crane
now lies sprawled on its back
and to the surprise of the third angel
it jerks spasmodically
and begins to die –
as it looks up it sees
the last shimmering glimmers
of the fading sun
as they highlight
dark foreboding clouds
with a fading silver halo.
Permanent members
of the peace council
argue without cease
and issue communiques
full of nothing
but static
and murmurings.
I thought it was
a horseman’s pick
but on closer examination
I saw it was made of bone;
skulls and teeth
elongated and woven together
into a fabric spread across
a cubic surface
and sealed
with bolts and wire;
the contrite outsides
of a growing and gurgling
deviant machine
resting
at the heart of it all.
– matt at shadow of iris
[The second verse was inspired by a work of Esao Andrews.]
Bravo Matt…