Perry Thompson - Four Poems

Oh Loyal Men Of Action!
in times of duty the sword does not
forsake the Warrior nor
the scalpel the Surgeon
bring the soldier-doctor to this breast,
have him cut out the heart

i'm in love
i need morphine

Gentlemen!
i've searched for an antidote:
running
painting
poetry
drugs
solitude

i've held my radio to my ear,
baseball scores washing over me
and generations of things that happen to men

but the Enemy found me in this abandoned
sector lacing my shoes, put a glove
on my skin, changed the color of my eyes

now where is the warrior-surgeon
with testimony of the razor
and cool draught of sleep

i want this damn thing gone when i wake!


City Angels Jet My Breath Away


city angels jet my breath away
jazz the night with yellow curls
smokey comics at microphones

they are spiders in diamond webs
hungry cats with tears in their bellies
their neon touches roar on my skin

i brush the sky with my looking
starved hounds bark at the stars
city angels jet my breath away



There Are People My Teachers Have Eaten


there are people my teachers have eaten
for the sake of education
in order to impress each other with some
truly noble and high digestion

all my teachers have eaten jesus
each one took a bite out of him
and thomas jefferson too

at dinner parties you can see them
in black tie stuffing kant in their
mouths and chewing slowly

i keep my hands in my pockets
and stare at my feet
i babble ruthlessly when i'm high
and never change my socks

i've spent thirty years
trying to make sense to teachers
whom i respected because their
intestines were on a higher level

now i don't give a fuck
now i know the truth
and i'm telling it to you --
there are people my teachers have eaten



We Lay War


we lay war
dead shoulder
to shoulder in blank
friendship,
line graveyards
in perfect rows
as if to confound
death with our preciseness.

startled by the carrion's blue
and winking eye
the child wonders
if this is how the hero feels,
sickened at the orange
taste of blood,
it warm way of covering
the hands and feet.

and when the hero
in his blonde blood
comes before
the child for execution,
old men draw near
to whisper lies
that fill the ear
and stay the hand.

in perfect rows
the soldiers pass,
parades the child can learn
to march in,
machinery precise
complete with young girls
dressed in black
with dark blank eyes.




Cover | Dancing Bear | Ray Heinrich | Submit