So Nice

Everything was
so nice
when we were the President’s children.
Visiting and remembering
the things we got
that mostly everyone else didn’t get.
We are Americans
so of course we like
exclusionary and private things
that others don’t get.
Am I wrong?
Or is this what it means to
be an American?
And if you don’t get these things,
then you posture to make it look
like you are well on your way
to having them,
or you had them once upon a time
from previous achievements.
You have seasoned experience.
Certainly.
Talk about success.
Or, what is upcoming,
surely you’ll have those things again,
you’ll create new success.
Your ship will come in.
It will be better.

These are the common archetypes
we talk around.

Solaris Hymn 40

This mortal earth
aside
the millionaire denies it,
the egotist claims her
and in missing the light,
shadows,
and calculus
of Solaris,
the revelation of suffering
avoids them.

So they only pass,
leaving unloved children
to repeat their wrath
and continue
the cycles of mortals.

O hold up you high
Piraeus’ glass at midday
and know
the wealth of nothingness.

Socrates is there
with wild hair
on the bed made by slaves
still dreaming.

Sappho is dead, just dead.
Her corpse wrapped in
loins.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Always A Great Crash

When will the markets fall?
The ghosts of the Palatine know
this.
The futile obsolescence is
faith.
The pillaged and raped tomorrow
being the rich in this hour
with their orange groves.
The ghosts of the Palatine know
this
and yet they build more skyscrapers
in New York City
where the water is rising
and will rise before the migration
to space is possible
and the fiends of eternity will
perish.

Born Into Advertising

Driving in a BMW®
the air feels warmer and warmer.

Driving in a BMW®
penises get larger and larger.

A flower rests on cow leather.

On the way to a funeral,
driving in a BMW®
young William knows nothing of
his loss.

Tater tots press into the seats.
A cartoon squelches on screen.
Tinted windows blot out clouds.
Children refrain from speaking.

Driving in a BMW®
life is a luxury.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

The Chances Of Imperium

The lines of America.
People lined up in perfectly ordered
queues.
Waiting politely for their turn.
Not questioning.
Not wondering,
except for quietly in their minds.
Though they believe, they have faith,
they know one day
their turn will come.
This is America.
Then they’ll die
still believing in their chances.
And their politicians will hail them,
will praise them
for their upstanding characters
and humble natures
so even from their graves
they still support these structures,
having not raised hands . . .

the spoils that the privileged
prosper,
though the great downfall eventually
of their garrisoned luxuries.

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin