(inspired
by Susan Hawthorne’s 'Weapon of War’.)
war
is the state against babies
a shriek down the
barrel of
an elegant cor
anglais, perhaps
red inkblots in snow
or dust
crying up, crying
up, in the veiled world
whereon everyone
makes the
supreme sacrifice in
time
though it may not
always be so:
I am the
Resurrection and the Life
no longer the words
of a sad lunatic
the state in its
majestic
monopoly of violence
holds off civil war
the classy war
of who holds which
end of the stick
the most despised of
her class
executed for a
miscarriage
the living
touchstone cast,
lynched from a dying
tree
they dig a grave for
each birth
these would-be
angels
in their majestic
monopoly of silence
special bodies
holding off
with the old night
terrors
of disintegration
the growing up of
our labour
of our special
bodies
which know the sad
music
of immortality
A stunning poem. Congrats. :)
ReplyDeletemuch obliged, Rob!
ReplyDeleteAgreed.
ReplyDeletethanks, Sara.
ReplyDeleteWhat a sad and moving poem Robbie. It's a great sorrow that we even need to write such words.
ReplyDelete