2006-01-31
poem
night at the plant
bereft of self-sustaining energy as far as we can discern,
the old power plant casts an eerie patina onto the fog shrouded night sky
who can guess at this place's strange powers?
shad no longer spawn in the numbers they came here to spawn in
once home of free black men, and a gathering point for the real peoples before them,
now charged with cosmic detritus a half-life of which shall likely last
well beyond the span of known civilization
militiamen peer through telescopes,
wear night goggles to to counterbalance the glare above them,
hoping to sight intruders ~ all the while present
yet ~ invisible
the terror is real, even if unseen
the families of hiroshima and enola gay survivors know first hand
these insurgents ~ they don't hide in mountains or shuttle between major airports
yet they are legion and cut through the night ~ ionic travellers
whisking themselves back and forth, to and fro, waiting, waiting
anemia comes first, then strange growths, addled thinking features more pronounced,
finally ~ lost bearings in familiar territory
there is no escape from this; no miraculous travel flight route
In the long run ~ we all end up buried in the woods
no headstone, no memorial save the grim knowledge
of our collective mortality
¶ 01:04 
night at the plant
bereft of self-sustaining energy as far as we can discern,
the old power plant casts an eerie patina onto the fog shrouded night sky
who can guess at this place's strange powers?
shad no longer spawn in the numbers they came here to spawn in
once home of free black men, and a gathering point for the real peoples before them,
now charged with cosmic detritus a half-life of which shall likely last
well beyond the span of known civilization
militiamen peer through telescopes,
wear night goggles to to counterbalance the glare above them,
hoping to sight intruders ~ all the while present
yet ~ invisible
the terror is real, even if unseen
the families of hiroshima and enola gay survivors know first hand
these insurgents ~ they don't hide in mountains or shuttle between major airports
yet they are legion and cut through the night ~ ionic travellers
whisking themselves back and forth, to and fro, waiting, waiting
anemia comes first, then strange growths, addled thinking features more pronounced,
finally ~ lost bearings in familiar territory
there is no escape from this; no miraculous travel flight route
In the long run ~ we all end up buried in the woods
no headstone, no memorial save the grim knowledge
of our collective mortality
