Copyright © 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Moral courage: a beast
as rare as a snipe, and a delicious
delicacy much favored by elites who've
conditioned you to walk many a mile
in their broke down brogans; at least
the ones they bought for us in bulk,
recycled from warehouses the allies inherited
after the war.
Some are cursed, their cataracts
distorting the branches and leaves of the
close-up trees, but such an instigator sees
the forest for what it is, remembering
with a mix of despair and nobility that
no headstones are ever required for
the likes of Hansel and Gretel.
Are human beings so self-loathing that we
embrace the imposition of whoredom to
the corporate prophet model? Did we succumb
and let it become an involuntary reflex?
Ah,
let the stars fill your eyes, my child.
Slumber mildly and fill your belly with oats.
The gates of Heaven are framed in peppermint,
and you can even lick the walls.
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