it was the last coherent summer
the search engines had learned to
dream
there was a comfort in the old sense of the word
and the
people still believed in goodness’ sake
when I saw you again
I had just gotten married
and you were
out of jail
for stealing a dog from a witch
I don’t think you believed me
when I said I knew about the black
magic
that I had seen the eternal serpent machine
spin its
Fibonocci spirals
from behind a thin veil
the sight of your broken dream is fixed now in my mind
you stood
there, a still life of dead game
strung out like a hare caught in a
pin
plucked like a pheasant on display
there is a civil war inside all of us
between an oppressor and
the oppressed
both blame the self and the other
for their
disunited state
the burden of responsibility
is to be expected
but when armistice comes
will you forgive the practical man
who had known the horrors of Santo Domingo
who had wept for the
heroes cut out on a limb
who withdrew his hand?