Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Wit's End.

The General commits his emptiness to God.

And in place of his eyes
Crystal balls
Roll with visions.

And his voice rises
From the dead fragments of men

A Frankenstein
A tank
A ghost
Roaming the impossible
Raising the hair on men's heads.

His hand
Has swept the battlefield flat as a sheet of foolscap
He writes:

I am a lantern
in the hand
of a blind people