Body of War

Head and heels
Head first, Achilles after
…
My high and noble logic means nothing here, nor would yours
Love and honesty capsize,
And everything else physical capitulates
In the prospect of change, the word of change.

Paris is under siege;
So many drown in the water scratching
Through the liquid to the island or,
Failed to become sea life.

See death in Venice, the same
The air that so long mirrored its canal water
Caught up with its inhabitants
Their bodies drop into Pluto’s ocean
The gondolas bear the boatman’s call, the soul of wasted flesh
And, finally we can account for Venetian stench

Now; still here
We have the Virtual and
We have pets
They have our life styles
And some, our clothes
Drawing closer to being thinking apes,
With each new bone and pathos

In some small part of my
Future I fear.
For our new pet, the mouse moves
in our will;
We move in the mercy of the Digital
Ever towards it
Wearing its clothes
…
We are and have been, on every level,
The mechanics of disposal

Goodbye arc
Goodbye arms
Goodbye atom
Goodbye analog