5626. MY MISMATCHED GLOBAL EMERGENCE

MY MISMATCHED 

GLOBAL EMERGENCE

(the universal soldier)

Perhaps I came out sunning,

perhaps not  -  what chance that

these differences matter? I do not

know nor tell, nor, then, say there

ever was a difference at all. No

real-time difference; that's for certain.

(The psych man says 'it's all in your 

head.')...My broken spoke, it has now

so far advanced unto a poetry of a

senseless jumble wherein the Andy

Hardy words of old are all now

disappeared. Frankly, Mr. Shankley,

I can no longer see or hear  -  not

anything, nothing, no. Entering now

another entry, do you see these

words at all?

-

I see you drink your Coke and Pepsi,

starlet. Outside of such encumbrances,

(oh wild and willing world), there is

nothing left. Just like Uncle Tungsten I

am heavy and bored or light and proud.

-

All of these categories I now proclaim

to forget! Those 100 references endlessly

made anew  -  the shank of a Civil War

battlefield, the bloodletting of a war a

century before. I hold in my hand a sword

from Ypres, a blank grenade from the

Ardenne Forest. I do not get them nor

do I purport to understand : the men

who die for valor and bravery, the

stupid fools who listen, the ones who

find their names on yet another list.

-

This battlefield monument is bleeding my

eyes while mothers creep, looking anew

for their sons to weep, for nothing more

than a false recall. (We kill a one, 

we kill them all).