Just Then I’m Empty Again

Standard

I was reading today about annihilation
and apocalyptic lyrics
and I felt my body go numb
have we been too comfortable
grown complacent in our vigilance

and it dawned on me
why I missed our cold-shouldered wars
and how they burned with electric fire
like winter sparks between our lips

because they were beautiful
catastrophic

back then we yearned for each other
not as a match to the stove, but
with the heat of a sparkler at its core
a fiery spectacle of protest
against our youth and careless ignorance

we armed ourselves with munitions
and unfounded accusations

we lobed words like warheads
but always ran in to dress each other’s wounds
like white hats in a battle torn zone

and I realized, JUST THEN, while
contemplating the other side
of metaphor and poetry
why I’d become so fascinated
by the prospect of war

because I’M EMPTY

a black rain, like darkness,
had dampened our lust for passion
life washed us clean with mud
and replaced that zealous rage
with dishtowels and laundry
overtime – mortgages

and I fantasized, AGAIN,
with a hopeful sickness as vile as
the smell of her sweat on your laundry
that those missiles had landed here
and burnt it all away

KMcGee – 2017

Silence lies within the Stone, but blindness lies within the Man

Standard

I’m much like a fossil-A silent stone
Frozen in my time by the great deluge
that washed over my skin.
A spectacle, indeed-
Plastered in strata and
suffocated in the mud slung from
donkeys’ hooves as they traverse
one by one in their PERFECT row.
Descending deeper into the canyon.
Each one thirsting for the river
below. Never stopping to consider
the poison that rolls downhill
from their piles of dung. Their
eyes focused on a singular Goal.

I wanted to warn them-
To yell, “STOP!”
But my voice is silenced by
the cementing properties of mud.
So the parade continues to MOVE ON,
progressing step by step toward
a certain end of their own.
Their poisoned reward compounded by
the amassing of their own shit.

AND here I AM, suspended in the mix of it all;
A rock in the wall – a stone in the shoe –
Nothing more than a nuisance
to the line of Jackasses passing by –
my tooth filled smile permanently fixed
with eyes plucked from the socket
like a cheap paper mask, leftovers
from an adolescent Halloween.

KMcGee – 2017

There’s no Solace in Death

Standard

I put up a fence
But you learned to climb
I closed my drapes
Still, you listened in
I moved to the woods
So you built a drone
I fell into my grave
Now you clone my bones

@KMcGee – 2017

 

.000? percent

Standard

You proclaim you know
them and their kind and

what’s inside
because they’re silent

Graceful
Patient

Speaking in actions
not in words

or violence
Not with forcefulness

or long “ummm” speeches
They are the meek

Stable
Resilient

They’re not afraid
to turn off

To take another road
buy another brew

shop another store
They don’t jerk around

not at the knee
or on the stage

They are backbones
and strong hands

They understand that crises
are temporary tattoos

sold by circus vendors
to distract you

from the pick pockets
and the slighted hands

and while you wonder
at the speed of street magicians

shuffling paper cups
they go to work

sweeping the confetti
of this week’s news reel

from underneath the iron heels

©KMcGee 2017

Returning to Babel

Standard

It’s come full circle, this life of mine, raised as a babe in that cold nuclear shadow, every plane a threat, every whistle of the wing discerned while I waited perched on banana seat, with captured breath, for the sound of the blast at the end, wondering should I duck and cover. Back then I was a child, I never understood, fully, the taking of a life, as I gleefully chased ants across sand, single focused on my task, magnifying glass in hand. And now, when my time should be full of golden years, I’ve returned to the thought of genocide-become the marching ant-desperately trying to escape burning rays and small minds with weapons in their hands, looking, as I once did, to stain cement with flaming flesh until nothing is left but ash. I deserve it – I guess – retribution for a dozen dead ants .

Remembering the Dame and her Rose

Standard

I will myself
To think of you
As a flower
Seed dropped
From silver wings
Unaffected by wind

You found your earth
Bruised it with power
Bursting forth from the shell
Which held you in

Atoms spun a new
In the red and brown
Your stem rose from the sun
Toward the sun
Growing as Jack’s stalk
Blanketed with flowers

Your blossoms wide
Casting shadow
Burning darkness
Our flesh Etched
On wood and stone
Until there’s nothing left
Even for the ants

KMcGee – 2016