02-23-2013, 01:56 PM
Terror is never as simple as a doll
with a butcher’s knife crawling
through ventilation shafts.
It is always the unseen
clacking ball, the imperceptible
connections,
of butterflies wings and tornadoes.
We scan the skies for flying monkeys.
Or wander through corn fields
to the music of the moon with its midnight waltz
of straw zombies in need of brains--
simple distractions to protect us from the truth.
The witch cackle, cackles and you will believe
that you can never go home:
where the fingerprint will smudge
cancer on an X-ray,
where the clatter of the metal duct
covers the creak of tiny feet on hardwood,
and where the funnel cloud swirls
like a swarm of restless bees.
The ball is already swinging.
Death comes first
then the dying.
with a butcher’s knife crawling
through ventilation shafts.
It is always the unseen
clacking ball, the imperceptible
connections,
of butterflies wings and tornadoes.
We scan the skies for flying monkeys.
Or wander through corn fields
to the music of the moon with its midnight waltz
of straw zombies in need of brains--
simple distractions to protect us from the truth.
The witch cackle, cackles and you will believe
that you can never go home:
where the fingerprint will smudge
cancer on an X-ray,
where the clatter of the metal duct
covers the creak of tiny feet on hardwood,
and where the funnel cloud swirls
like a swarm of restless bees.
The ball is already swinging.
Death comes first
then the dying.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson