Archive 07/07/11

 

   

Swiss-Cheese Clouds

                                                                  

As he ascends from nightmares' rain- and blood-drenched trenches,

Into the yawning no-man's-land between dawn and surreality,

Some portentous vision of that ancient enemy of his people assaults him,

With the contemporary equivalent of mustard gas.

 

After all, he isn't soldiering for von Hindenburg, outside Verdun, anymore,

But, rather, cringing, gasping, choking, from the Gothic toxic shock

Of breathing in fumes escaping those invisible prussic-acid crystals

His ears can yet hear clicking down from the roof, like mice feet.

 

He can't fathom how something so heinous, grotesque, monstrous, maniacal

Could possibly happen to so many defenseless innocents

And still be transporting his spirit from one end of nightmare to the other,

Chuff-chuffing between Bedlam, Pandemonium, Tartarus, Sheol, and Hell,

 

Without his ever arriving at a redeeming resolution to the Final Solution,

Which sent his soul scurrying, on clicking mice feet, up a flue-gas stack,

From whose mortar crown he still sees Swiss-cheese clouds drifting —

Visions he keeps gnawing, nibbling, as he feeds his appetite for dying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

07/07/11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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