Poem: Nightwall

 

Nightwall

 

bricks in a wall,

each a babbling mouth,

bite at fingers as i try to climb,

needy as i am

to see over the razorwire top;

 

but it is only another mouth,

composed of the other walls, bricks,

and trapped mouths.

 

quite incalculable:

 

lips within cubes within

walls within proclamations,

chewing and biting

and sucking and pretending.

 

each unthinking.  and yet so important

in the entire scheme

of the confusion, despair, denial and rage.

 

it could be

 

that if i pulled out a single brick,

the light of truth would break in,

making the entire multi-part monster crumble.

 

it could be.

 

and maybe it would,

no matter which brick i chose,

when or where or how.

 

every little bit of the machinery

vulnerable to an honest yank,

even as it gnashes into mortar

the sacrifice of slain dreams.

 

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This poem is a criticism of fascists.  I want to make that clear.  Why?  Because fascists take every work of art that condemns them and claim it applies to those who resist their hate and bigotry.

6/27/22  "crumble" replaces "stumble"