my first hashtag in a poem,
my first dhyanglophonic show,
my first Meta-Dada cameo performance.
My first poetic hypertext written directly in https://www...
At the very end of Venturi Tube of this the cross century.
Way under the effect
of manipulative anti-European cyclonic turbulence.
Just about to get spat out of the whirlpool
into the desert of a Tory-infused mass deculturalisation.
Maintaining my sanity by joining DiEM25
Now still waiting for the neo-neo-advangards to happen
and the Virtual Holographic Poetry to be accomplished,
I scribble dribbles of onomatopoeic inconsistencies
Scroll...scroll down now...
down to the bottom and let
your synaptic cells
finally snapping their way away from
IF THIS IS A MAN
You who live safe
In your warm houses,
You who find, returning in the evening,
Hot food and friendly faces:
Consider if this is a man
Who works in the mud,
Who does not know peace,
Who fights for a scrap of bread,
Who dies because of a yes or a no.
Consider if this is a woman
Without hair and without name,
With no more strength to remember,
Her eyes empty and her womb cold
Like a frog in winter.
Meditate that this came about:
I commend these words to you.
Carve them in your hearts
At home, in the street,
Going to bed, rising;
Repeat them to your children.
Or may your house fall apart,
May illness impede you,
May your children turn their faces from you.
MAN OF MY TIME
ou are still the one with the stone and the sling,
Man of my time. You were in the cockpit,
With the malevolent wings, the meridians of death,
-I have seen you - in the chariot of fire, at the gallows,
At the wheels of torture. I have seen you: it was you,
With your exact science set on extermination,
Without love, without Christ. You have killed again,
As always, as your fathers killed,
as the animals killed that saw you for the first time.
And this blood smells as on the day
When one brother told the other brother:
"Let us go into the fields." And that echo, chill, tenacious,
Has reached down to you, within your day.
Forgot, O sons, the clouds of blood
Risen from the earth, forget your fathers:
Their tombs sink down in ashes,
Black birds, the wind, cover their heart.