10-06-2011, 02:35 PM
The tides are rushing forth to flow
through a plughole in her breast.
Memory and conscience spill
down the blue fields of her blouse.
Somewhere a man of certain race is collected from his home
and murdered in a jail cell.
Many years ago a girl
was thrust onto a blazing heap.
Red cotton socks falling apart.
He withdraws the knife and frowns
at a stain on his new shoes.
He tears the woman's blouse,
shoves the separated cloth
in a breast pocket.
Takes her key, leaves the room,
locks the door then slides the key
through the letterbox.
In a faraway palace death warrants are signed.
The general has had his lunch -
champagne, chicken, chocolate mousse -
and is tending to some work.
through a plughole in her breast.
Memory and conscience spill
down the blue fields of her blouse.
Somewhere a man of certain race is collected from his home
and murdered in a jail cell.
Many years ago a girl
was thrust onto a blazing heap.
Red cotton socks falling apart.
He withdraws the knife and frowns
at a stain on his new shoes.
He tears the woman's blouse,
shoves the separated cloth
in a breast pocket.
Takes her key, leaves the room,
locks the door then slides the key
through the letterbox.
In a faraway palace death warrants are signed.
The general has had his lunch -
champagne, chicken, chocolate mousse -
and is tending to some work.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe