myana marred
your mightiest ships
cannot sail to heaven on
a river of blood
justsayin’
from generation to degeneration the slope slips and slides
throughout the land we hear the cry as honesty elides
a thousand pictures painted with the life’s blood of our own
is not worth a single word that says This we’ll not condone!
the young child’s revelation is the wisdom of our race:
the simple No! we all learn to speak unlocks our human face
inundations
is it conversation or conversion that you seeking long for?
dial log in M for the murderous intent
speak your peace be still be calmed
these wars of dark and light are yours are yours alone
the battleground within leaves me without
unsettled the encampment spawning seeding breeding
enchantment or enchainment
parroting and puppetry abound surround confound
your arc’s a closing circle
my ark’s a refuge floating free
sustaining through catastrophe until the armies receding
reveal a sign across the skies the face of God
in every living being seen some day may it be some day
clarity
do not speak to me of
solids
I will not tarry in your
thickened airy world of
sinister substances
toxic trespasses
and secondary semblances
assembled
the weight of your hatred breaks my bones
I will go fluid
find the gaps
the crevices
as sweet melodies drift by
a chant meant for my fathers
a tone meant for my mothers
help me fill the interlude
help me feel the interval
let me be the interstitial fool
and bridge the edgeless depth
sail iconoclastic chasms
float above the flooded caverns
lift me now beyond the fathoms
feed me solitary daring
that although
alone
I might
rise
and ride
and roam this vast and savage
devastation
the wild hard sands will take you
melting down to seal you
a crystalline night vault
a cocoon of fixity
as glassy history runs past
and I
I am saved by winds
they race me away
their speech is of flow
their protean tongues
cry a chorus of whispers
they are desire
I will not resist
I will breathe a cold crisp air
and where they will take me
there I will be
there you can find me
yes there I will be
ghetto
And we rock and sand go into the furnace
forming reddened skin flexing flowing free
adapting to the shape
the shape of necessity
tempered
tempered and purified
in this oven in these flames
until the fires are bartered for the light
silver streams now fixed and frozen
frozen mirrored to reflect/deflect
clear fluid now made cool and hard
hard windowed to look out/look in
as judgment arrives in the wake of heat:
And who shall be a dagger?
And who shall be a shield?
And who a looking glass?
And who will magnify the small?
And who will see beyond the stars?
And who will carry it all within
to contain
to protect
to preserve?
five windows
I am not of the community, no
not a remnant half-remembered
inmuseumed persistence, no
but I will tell their story just the same
it’s a story that you’ll want to hear
that every cold-cultured conqueror
could stand to learn
do not close your gates
like the covers of a book
the future remains free of any rule
maniachean
put your fist through glass and fill the house with your laughter
cool observation before the firestorm’s hot nights crystallize
melting into light of day to give wings to words of lead and steel
fast flight through soft boundaries yields sounds of wet bombasts bursting without a care
lawns require immaculate manicure and precise trim or so you say
prune the branch and spare the tree and take cold showers to invigorate your musculature
just say go and get ready to set the intimation as tumult yields timidity
in the silent crowd befriending fear with formula visitation
and the pully-boy says go gogogogogogogogo
soaring like an ego in flight but it’s only suspended ammunition
from motion to emotion and displayed devotion in nurture all guidance
judgment delayed comes too late too dearly among inured ambergrisly
because when putsch comes to shove the tough go getting their way
and the rest go getting out of their way or it’s tough going going gone
after all it’s a rational calculation grounded in scientific investigation
best minds best methods best means to an ending an effect an edge an heurism
go figure
Bionote
Lance a. Strate is Professor of Communication and Media Studies at Fordham University in New York City. He is the author of Amazing Ourselves to Death: Neil Postman’s Brave New World Revisited (2014), On the Binding Biases of Time and Other Essays on General Semantics and Media Ecology (2011), and Echoes and Reflections: On Media Ecology as a Field of Study (2006), and the poetry collection, Thunder at Darwin Station (2014). He is founder and past president of the Media Ecology Association, a Trustee of the Institute of General Semantics and the president of New York Society of General semantics.
