a farewell to Scotland
So they made alan turing eat the poisoned apple
then made Elton John a knight after bullying
went out of fashion then everything unraveled all
the way back to the original stitches and they gave
up all together and there's not much left of the
world as it was the queen is down to her skivvies,
out hocking the remaining jewels, with the kings
all dead forever so as it turns out, in the glare of
history, which undermines especially this overcast
river of america, where it never seems to rain, these
denizens of it is what it is, The Final Irrevocable
Republic exist without too much suffering, or too
much pleasure, without a single adam to stick out
its tongue so what providence will rout the holy
armada this time? will rout the enigma this time?
as all our heroes have been contented with tennis
balls, old wives, and meander in neon tennis shoes
having never known themselves:
the undifferentiated issue of an army of
on intrinsic finality
Hot breath of the Gods on my neck like drafts
In the grave: Chemical, Oleander Eyes,
And Eternal Green (reflected in plate
Glass), clinging to a rotted redwood.
(And) who’s to say? maybe everything is
Telling the truth tonight, because if the moon is
A mechanism, then socrates is
Somehow still the wisest person anyplace.
But no, because Man is a mechanism
And even the wisest of Men are only
A stranded bare bone shipwrecked shore and
(Tonight), even the earth seems in earnest.
Yet who can prove some unexpected angel’s
Not appeared to defenestrate a dubious soul?
san jose business park alone
at dusk with the sky
I don’t know what i'm wishing for
something outlandish and impossible i guess;
because even the ocean won't take on any of my stain
and mother birds inspect the work of father birds, and
fuck them better for their trouble
and ladies and girls smile with their eyes,
and sparkle like the black hole at the center
but i prefer the side door.
Robin C. Pinkman lives and writes in Portland Oregon.