the poetry knook, the poetry of stephen m. james

More than a Movie

We await green saucers hovering in the smoldering sky
But no aliens show their ships:
They are our species, of our sickly kind.
The Persistence Of [our] Memory is
Surreal, as I fell asleep wishing it all away by Manhattan morn,
Wanting to see twin sentinels guarding over the city again,
Not rubble under its cityscape.
We search for culprits and casualties
In the fog of destruction.
Waiting for the credits to run
So we can run out and kill the director, the scriptwright, the producer . . .
For we will “make no distinction.”

We are orphans crumbling of Babel:
Towers tumbling, imploding, upon themselves
Anger resonates as planes plummet,
Yearning for arms to hold us up
From attack from inside our country,
And from inside ourselves.


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© 1993-2024 by Stephen M. James.