The poetics of mass murder

“There is an Evil that hates us all”

echoed long, a soul-hollowing call

on weatherman, high priest and blithe fool

for great Good is struck by Godly rule

to conquer Darkness, sunrise or fall…

 

“There is a Good that can do no harm”

rung out in the wild bombastic calm

of steely kisses flown street and farm

wrapped and loosed by the lip-splitting charm

of the Brotherhood, come arm-in-arm…

 

There is a poem aft every war

sung aloud on hills of blood and gore

but which authored on a further shore

not yet alive, not yet here, unsure

a world of fewer people, not more…

 

“Only bad poetry goes to war”

chimes hence with a victim-settling score

neither an all-or-nothing God nor

peoples disembodied to the core

saw more Evil than Good fade, withdraw…

 

“The world trades borders on futures present”

pangs with an earthquake fury incessant

as Good-looks now look fleeting, unpleasant

in the eyes of poets tongues tumescent

wax-working a hyper-waning crescent…

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