Portent
“i was king
in the year of burning
we were gods
told stories in the
shadows of swaying buildings
in the shadows of burned out cars,
and at every trailer women gave us their daughters”
“A Flag On Fire Is A Song O Hope,”
by John
Sweet the reluctant king looking
o’er
the miserable gathered.
They
love company.
Dionysius
can keep his sword.
Regardless
of wasteful bureaucracy
they’d
set the emblems ablaze.
These
days justice take sides
battle
flags and call letters.
‘with claws for hands,
With yellow teeth and then,
When the machine gun was finally
invented,
They finally knew there was
something more fulfilling than saving lives.’
Could
all of said misery could be ended
with a
swing of the executioners blade?
And the
miserable gathered cheer for the only
‘and i
had to be
made to
understand that my words
weren’t
poems
was
given a flag
was
given a shovel
no one
would acknowledge
any of
the bones i found
the
kingdoms
i built
from them’
(portent)
and laughter an meaningless joy
‘the
storm and then the
Silence
before the storm that follows
Pale
yellow skies over car crashes
and
prayers and the
steady
buzz of insects
the
river
where
your son took his life.
‘you
tired of being told
What to
do but so what?
Your
choices come down to a
Diet of
bitter shit
or a
diet of starvation,
and
even these are offered grudgingly’
“A Flag On Fire Is A Song O Hope,”
is not
for deeper understanding.
Pulling
my member from its depths.
Eyeballs
peeled from the windshield of constant sameness
and
ignorance as this vehicle goes off the road.
This
book isn’t for the chanters, agitators. The disaffected.
The
belly full of…
It is
for the blood. It is for the streets. It is for the burn
and
whatever is in its way.
Reviewed
by Godfrey Logan
