Sing, Goddess, of the wrath of the poet
sing of the emptiness
of the people of no ethics
who send their sons off to die
or, more conveniently, and likely,
send the sons of others
off to die.
Who suffer no inguinal twinges,
no pain and much gain,
but a somewhat stupefied
cavil at the expense
of all the marble, or granite
for memorials which instead
could have scaled a bank.
While the boys scaled a bank
in mud and thorns and
explosive devices,
made in clamour and in cool silence
in munitions factories owned
by the people of no ethics.
Sing, Goddess, of the missiles of Zeus,
wrought by Hephaistos G537Bx10,
a mechanism skilled
in engraving micro-circuits
that remind us of worm-casts
on the wet sand shore of Circe’s island
where the men as swine roamed
and the caves of the City
where the swine as men roam,
and as they similarly do, in other places
such as the Halls of Justice
and the mansions of the Fourth Estate.
Sing, Goddess, of the men of smashed teeth,
as Pandarus sported on the windy slopes of Troy
and the spear, or jagged shrapnel, through the large intestine
as happened to Diores, and the ‘Unknown Soldiers’.
and my great uncle Thomas Burnett.
Sing of the profits, garnered in Mycenae
and in Philadelphia, and the trade routes
guarded by the eight hundred bases – the basis
of ruin, eventually, when the banks go bust,
because Oil is thicker than water, and
eventually runs out, into the endless sands
where Mohenjo-Daro died in thirst.
Sing, goddess, of the clenched teeth,
when the schools teach history
specially formed for our enjoyment
by Disney & Blimp, Inc., and
when there is no end
to the great lies, of progress, and
the essential growth and expansion
of the ‘No-morals’ system
and the bankruptcy of the world.