
The White Room
I.
Argent parlor
Bed in roses
Cool, darkling stares
In Black and White
Absorbs all light
Here are delights
Am I crazy?
When I think right
No, I think, Yes
None can answer
The nun’s prayer
She is my dread
Fetid and soiled
She tells me my
Soul is abused
The Blues, Feng Shui
Coordinate
What is to come
The sun, no suns
Enter this room
Know no regrets
Remember light
Pale moonlight smiles
Unending dooms
You are here, too
Knitting our lives
Remembering
Hiroshima
Nagasaki
Enola Gay
In the dark lies
The half-life’s live
Glow with regrets
The Pilot smiles
The Pilot lies
He is here, too
Heavy water
Tithe the oceans
Wanting to share
II.
The sitting room
The doctors stare
Await the storms
Of unhinged lives
Medicated
To believe dreams
We know all rooms
It’s our puzzle
Solving his muse
How could he drop
Devastation
And call it hope
How could we lie
And say its hope
Smoke and more smoke
The cities burnt
Shadows that crept
Ashes of smoke
The rhymes of war
Jingle tingle
Laugh and mingle
Bloody the rope
Half-life of hopes
Disappearance
My eyes bonded
To the running
Chilly children
Where do they go
Geronimo
Parachutes launched
Kill them all and
Kill them again
All Indians
Manifest the
Cruel destiny
Of all dead flags
All western fronts
Have fallen true
To opinion
III.
Doctor Panzer
Is no Nazi
He smokes and smokes
Says funny tropes
Devastation
Is all in hopes
The numbered Jews?
No opinion
As he debriefs
All the children
And hands them rope
To strangle hope
Let’s them dangle
In gas chambers
And the Pope knows
Counting their souls
Expecting the news
Safe in his rooms
Coliseum
Dead horses roam
The carcasses
Nero has time
To decide fate
We have no time
Where memory
Kills the torn fate
Memory lies
We imagined
Dirigibles
Burnt across skies
That gave our lives
Something to kill
Something to strive
Dawn never came
Medicine Man
Cavemen’s fire
The spinning wheels
The carcasses
Dawns desire
New horizons
To kill and kill
Roaming the prairie
To improve lust
To tramp in dust
Weapons deny
Us to Jesus
But I’m the Christ
In this closed
room
IV.
Silent running
The crimson cross
Love massacred
Who is he to
Say what is true?
Up on his cross
Magdalene cry’s
Pilat denies
All history
Man is a curse
Sodden in prey
Damp in his grave
Spinning in the
Infinity
Of Trinity
Of His power
Where is power
Where we all fall
In this white room
So pure and trite
I say goodnight