beethoven's fist
then the fanfaronade
sounding the
rooftops,
then the
wailing pitch and nosedive,
a fireball
on the rain wasted streets--
there
like a voice
snarled
in
the mind's weather
a moist
gumdrop
sits
in my mouth. no bite.
or
so it seems
whenever an
old century, a young century ,
both
toothless,
chew
down
I know I'm
all wet,
ears
waterlogged,
deaf
as a desktop post.
nothing but
this boatload ofwords
and a crafty
backstroke
to
float us
over
the
wave
well,
even so.
what we have
here is tenement meltdown.
from
every window a geyser
of fire,
screaming jumpers
peeled from
their blistered skin,
like bubble
fish
the net
can't catch
scales
ofwords stripped to the blood root,
dissolved
in fire tides
was
a passenger jet
the
sky dropped,
a
hellbent missile
bombing
the new millennium.
one
hundred dead
on
the ground.
ash
peppered steel
and
the rain would not quit
so
who to inscribe chaos,
steer
its timbre
to
where intellect
anchors
nonsense,
emotions
bottom feed?
will a
picture do the job?
a
photo and a line of newsprint?
no
chance.
it's
like so totally graphic
anyway,
a
sound poem from the galaxy's maw, dead real
like really good
art
when it's not,
when
it's not just art,
when
it rains down fire,
when
it floods our few days
what purpose to build a ship? to carry a people
safely
toward their bearings?
nobody's
safe.
it's
always a crash landing
I count two new gumdrop flavors.
fashionable
art
no
one who dares the power dive,
who
pounds an iron fist
no
ludvig van
under
american
skies--
just computer pilots,
clouds of spray
paint,
virtual rain,
digital cats and dogs