post-war, desolation

the divine general
is kicked back at his holy desk
helmet tipped down over his eyes
snoring

on the wall behind him
a map of the universe
yellowed and faded,
curling at the corners

someone has written in Sharpie
on the general's helmet
“God is Dead”
then crept out of the room
snickering

and, below,
the spavined old women
clutching wooden beads
in shivering hands
bend their bonneted heads
murmuring like a newsreel
the songs of Heaven

and the burnished-eyed,
spring-young men,
chins thrust forward,
resolutely march
forever through fields
toward a many-handed,
million-named enemy
with only philosophy
to protect them -

this year the trees shall
unburden themselves of pages
in place of leaves
and shrink themselves
in the process,
turn to wizened old men,
stooping over graves
and clucking their tongues

and
in the encroaching dark
as the sun goes out
with a mutter, and
as the stars begin to
sizzle in the skillet
of the sky,

the gloating sound of
the dead rises
from the horizon
like an orchestra warming up,

then,
wind,
and nothing further

but the cruel wink
of the moon
over the empty churchyards

bees

last night i dreamed i became a beehive. i moved in and became a beehive in your house, and you were horrified at the stench - the sweet cloying stench. we lived by the sea, but the salt water did nothing to combat it. i was about to burst, and you ran away crying. in the old wooden house by the sea. my cracked & swollen face gave birth to a thousand angry bees.

yesterday, while sitting out smoking a cigarette, i came upon the conclusion that what i thought has been a noble pursuit up until now has actually been not only detrimental to my life & the pursuit of happiness (as it were) but also, in the right light, is twisted, ugly, and ignoble.

everything online tells me that dreaming of bees is good luck. reversal of fortune. somehow i am disinclined to believe it.

someday soon, oh someday soon, i'm going to lose all of my teeth & all of my money & all of my friends & everything i own & i will be itinerant, peripateic around the edges of everything until the fire that's raging at the heart of everything finally makes its way to the outskirts & finds my corpse.

cheery today, aren't we.