May 31, 2016

K.A. Ghazi

ONLY THE STINK WILL LINGER

assemblies of terminal men stampede
across all bound geography
with such whimsically brutal cruelty and force
trampling and crapping on endlessly
throughout the land, madly floundering around
their meager boundaries held together
by so much piss and artillery;

each one tethered to some grand bellwether,
feeding heavy at the hell-sprung trough of
enmity, greed, and rendered pleas.

alas, this transient rampage of brute punchinellos,
of gluttons of plunder, parading about
with a belching pandemonium of lumbering grunts

does not distract the indefatigable fact, oh men,

of graves beckoning your names
where it is deep and cold and implacably quiet

save the catastrophe of insects and worms
redeeming this earth of your gargantuan refuse
with your pleadingly delicate (but oh so fertile) screams.

from Rattle #17, Summer 2002