Wages Of War: Bringing Home The Bacon

“the Aegean flower with corpses” 
—Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 659. 

Soul monger, I’d have wagered
If you had any heart at all 
For this business, you’d have sold 
Your stake in it piecemeal 

To the highest bidder instead 
Of hoarding it whole-hog 
For your blooming, 
Bloody self--

From this vantage point
However, I must concede
You're doing a bang-up job
As both butcher and packer. 

Point To Bear In Mind

Where 
You find yourself 
At any given 

Place depends 
On what 
You take with you 

There. 

Parsing The All For Naught Dichotomy

Wherein we are
Taught to think 
There is everything 
Under the sun to believe in, 
And nothing to explain how 
Inexplicable everything is.

Homage To The Kingdom Of Gaud

Spineless one, how is it 
You’ve left behind 
Legions of bedraggled 
Pilgrims on your way here, 
And many a torn rucksack, 
Yet never once noticed 
The tatterdemalion one
Adorning your back.

Almost Over The Hill

Coming upon the old 
Sheepdog as he lumbers 

Up a difficult 
Incline 

With his flock already gone 
Over the hill and I 

A steady distance some 
Twenty meters behind, 

I do not reflect on all that 
He’s been through to get this far, 

But on that sudden flash 
Of early morning 

Sunlight that lights 
Up his shabby coat 

Just as he reaches 
The top.

Washed Up Primeval Aural Consciousness

Curled swirling encrusted 
Antediluvian conches nest 
Last heard striding 

Multitudinous deafening waves 
Breaking on black obsidian 
Strand. 

Better Luck Some Other Day

Some days are meant 
For doing nothing— 
The Greeks know this 
Better than anybody else, 
You could say it’s the driving 
Force behind everything they do,

Best expressed in what has to be 
Their favorite saying, “Don’t do 
Anything today that can be better 
Done tomorrow”—of course 
When tomorrow does decide 
To pay a visit, it’s become today

And you’re back to square one 
With nothing to show 
For your patience save 
One more day spent imagining 
A tomorrow that mercifully 
Enough never comes your way.