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To Ezra Pound

These are the names of the companies that have made
        money from this war
nineteenhundredsixtyeight  Annodomini  fourthousand
        eighty Hebraic
These are the Corporations who have profited by merchan-
        dising skinburning phosphorous or shells fragmented
        to thousands of fleshpiercing needles
and here listed money millions gained by each combine for
        manufacture
and here are gains numbered, index'd swelling a decade, set
        in order,
here named the Fathers in office in these industries, tele-
        phones directing finance,
names of directors, makers of fates, and the names of the
        stockholders of these destined Aggregates,
and here are the names of their ambassadors to the Capital,
        representatives to legislature, those who sit drinking
        in hotel lobbies to persuade,
and separate listed, those who drop Amphetamine with
        military, gossip, argue, and persuade
suggesting policy naming language proposing strategy, this
        done for fee as ambassadors to Pentagon, consul-
        tants to military, paid by their industry:
and these are the names of the generals & captains mili-
        tary, who know thus work for war goods manufactur-
        ers;
and above these, listed, the names of the banks, combines,
        investment trusts that control these industries:
and these are the names of the newspapers owned by these
        banks
and these are the names of the airstations owned by these
        combines;
and these are the numbers of thousands of citizens em-
        ployed by these businesses named;
and the beginning of this accounting is 1958 and the end
        1968, that static be contained in orderly mind,
        coherent and definite,
and the first form of this litany begun first day December
        1967 furthers this poem of these States.

                                        December 1, 1967
Sethnicity Jun 2015
All Along this chain link fence
pulsing incessant down ground-ward decent

Bone paved side cracked and twisting this winding road
No street lights rest stops my nerve twitch eyes closed

swelling and curving no stretch in shoulder
Wheels rub the hot spot as ripples get louder

Sliding highways you know that fun
till happy turns hazard drinking redrum

tumblingdown head first
shatteringhigh star burst
scatteringmy focus
splatteringlike bone crush
scaffoldingdo not touch!

Another brick in the wall of fame
extra activity considered the game

Now Excel at macro Alt Shift and paste
spreadsheet my back line the facts on my face  

"Say Boy!, your speedy." from there I can trace
That needle-nosed issue in tissue displaced

bend over run forward turn left then cough
so perfect small packages get checked in then lost

Like milli tary or leaves when it out lived the need
***** the life from under shelter asteamed

Sleeping pins needle in terminal sensation
clinching and grasping to my spinal decoration

twisting and turning will bring no release
this physical chain from my **** cyst to neck leash

when typing or driving the pleasure is lost
when numbness takes over attention to high a cost

I'm broken together
one round at a time
yet the cords are in place
to ring in tune as it grinds.
cervical
Thoratic
Lumbar
coccyx
A long slow deliberate pulse of painful memories stored in the body...
Timothy H Dec 2015
early nightfall in the canyon
a bat's balletic swoop
complements the alpine tribu-
tary, it's gentle loop

hi! I see you ursa major
you too are part of this--
the lull, the beat, the spell, the sleep
now with a goodnight kiss
Micheal Wolf May 2013
Fire in her eyes love in her thighs as the cougar seeks her quarry
His clothes to be ripped his face to be kissed his body to devour
A younger flesh to be her next to feast and writhe upon
Oh she's complete with heels on her feet and nylons just for him
Oh why oh why did she not meet the focus of all her desire
Well you where in college while he was in shorts with a soother shoved in his mush
But now he's a man with a mind of his own and a mission to seek what he wants
Others may weep as they slip between sheets but love has no age size or creed
So mark my words well we're all off to hell and I hope with the person we love
As old as we get or as much as we try you can only be who you are
So sleep with the love whomever they are and wake in their warm embrace
For life is to short to tary with age and miss the one made for you.
I know as I missed and no longer resist and hope that you do too
Ode to a cougar
Annelise Camille Oct 2018
i'm merely a mosaic of broken glass
slow hands, delicacy is all i ask
are you up for the task?

your flowers have bloomed beautifully
now you can dream peacefully in your sleep
without your demon's interrupting scream

i once was fragmentary
until you put me back in one piece
until you pieced me back together
never asked to be a normal being
now i don't recognize a thing about me

no longer a mosaic,
just shattered glass
Veritia Venandi Jul 2020
Someone stirs and moves, inside of the four walls...
Someone young and fragile...!

The wind rustles against the window to peep, but with no avail...
The rain pours wild, knocking the door, but without an answer...!

Once or twice a voice laughs...
Once or twice a voice cries...
And then silence takes over again!

How the mortar radiates forbidden stories for unborn hours of time to carry...
How the shadows collect terrible secrets for the melody of the night to tary...

Something was amiss here... Something unknown...

And one stormy night finally...
The lightning discovered...

"SHE" was the Enigma...!
           ~Venandi
How well do we know each other? Very often we know... But fail to understand... We all in one way or the other is an enigma... Difficult to be fully comprehended.
Just wanted to leave you with this thought!
Thank u so much for reading... ❤
Harrison Buloke Sep 2019
Those beautiful pines below me call out with the whispering sound of the sirens, as their green majesty hides deathly spikes, that would permanently ensnare any falling climber in a sharp, sticky, tary, tomb. What a carnivore of a plant.
A different way to look at trees
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jan 2020
GUN FUN

Gun Fun has swept America.
Gun Fun means you can ****,
and if you’re lucky enough to
own an AR-15, you can **** a lot,
about one human being a
second. Think about it. You
own a machine gun, and
the U.S. government doesn’t
give a ****. Ah, Columbine!
Who could forget that massacre
in 1999? Thirteen students killed,
over 20 wounded. But that just got
the ball rolling. And who could
forget the Sandy Hook Elemen-
tary School massacres in 2012?
Twenty little kids between six-and-
seven-years old murdered execution-
style, plus six adults just for good
measure. Remember how our
Congressmen and Senators
reacted? Of course you don’t,
because they didn’t. Gun Fun
was the new July 4th! The NRA
was celebrating! The 2nd Amendment
was sacrosanct, even though the
AR-15 was not a musket. The list
of these home-grown atrocities is
virtually endless. Gun Fun! Gun Fun!
Gun Fun! And after we get through
cheering, let’s all sing “God Bless America.”

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire life. He recently finished his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.

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