dictators

 

DICTATORS & SUB-ATOMIC PARTICULATE MATTERS

 

In a magic of film--

always never will be---

1804 vanishes ---just another tragedy of the nun-black  symphony.

Music /noise in sudden summer,

a ballet of bullets in global bodies politic.

Aesthesis of sound and nonsense and incense.

Mercy abandons a night.

Breath-destroying deeds

publish themselves in the best papers

to hold minds hostage,

to make the making of coffee, cotton, tea and cane-crust runes

 Kaufman sang in the ancient rain.

Drum the ineffable

of always never was.

Dictators grow fatter and fatter

to image what ears refuse to hear.

In the underworld of things,

billionaire skeletons pray

salvation can be found in space.

They are wrong of course.

Poets faithfully dislocate that place.

Sell them--

the dictators --

 no dreams of ghost Diaspora,

of gothic sublime, of pandemic traps.

Permit them to swan-song demise---

sub-atomic particulate matters,

signs of your cross--

no more actual than Mad Hatters---

no more real than perpetual violence.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.            July 8, 2021

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