I’m fed up with Prague, Paris and progress

It’s because I feel like a lonely boy.

I could sweep aside the art and crafts for the day,

pick up my manlier toys,

in an hour of need.

~

Years later I may grow up,

guns in hand.

Yesterday’s fissures show up honourably

on TV, and I may one day be called to fix small arms symphonies

in lands where tyrants trail newly won streets with

glistening gold-plated depleted uranium hypocrisy

~

If they should come close to hurting you, which I could never bear

With titles and a message, or anonymously

I’d stockpile shares everywhere

and raise forgotten silos, for you

in our hour of need,

What’s more, dear

this sniping threat …

I have learned we live more than exist

~

For brief respite we’ll hire those brave, gifted folks to close down this travisty

suspend the dream-merchants

so we can perfect our progeny

(permanence, is, after-all something)

in this, a dark hour of need.

Oh my darling if you would understand just what it takes

to cling on to that last noiseless sigh of power,

to be devoted to all

which will revoke all the old failings

which will enable a better way of equipping

someone to watch for us, with both eyes wide,

as the lesser hand counts round, and again

and inevitably strikes
war