crapture - six months in

July in rainey PDX
80's Fahrenheit, rains recede

meanwhile in Bible Belt pavements crumple
corn dies in furrow

adds 15% in a day to the price of corn fed steaks
and the gut bulge high fructose corn shill

turns out that rapture tracks
Global Warming Doubters

God Liars like Popes and ArchBishops, the boy boys
Opus Buckos, who ditch the caring nuns

for the pumps of money and power
stealing the names of God for private use

at the sign of the end of crimes
noone holds the fools to account

six months in and end predictions fall
to a dig of Science. 2012 was a Politician's Boast

bloody Aztec king long dead now in defeat
kernel of confusion stolen, making a living for a buck.

I would laugh but the glaciers die and dry
polar bears drown swimming for ice

sun fries the Shouting South
burned out telling me how to live

you ought to stake the change doubting Congress
each Summer - to a hurricane beach - while waters rise

tie the rant party holy rollers
onto the pols, for ballast

Bob Phillips
7/11/2012

beach where

wind whips, spruce
foggy ridge when the North wind catches
back snap when the South blows
drops rain
flipping the five inch rain column
counts again


lights, the sags interrupts


flash of a light strike
over Siletz bay rise
of snow


needle choke between deck boards
Ann just reamed


my Airedale groans
confined

yearglitch

as the Holliday approaches already over
end up in a talking shop
phones on block channeling some zenjungle
everyones intent and the ceilings are hard
high glass window walls
a starbucks' wifi intrudes catty corner
zooms and turns
nods of reception and look under eyebrows
in a silent swath of zenjungel the noise cancellation suffers
a bubble of babble
sax pricked


zenjungle

cell

at the edge where the dogs hold
leashed against the bars, strain
by the membrane of sleeplessness
practice calesthentic curl-ups, void at last
shit first warm, then clammy
then cold as concrete floors


in my place the laughing devil
feints my privates, so called, I curl,
hold up a name of God, ward warden


led on a leash of lampcord, I testify
through the wires on my fingers
perform for master, tiny camerav

my guide a burning bush, wick
of the righteous, stammers and stumbles
visited upon the depraved, plausible, denial

Crapture

someones's hitting heads
and the reverb of repetition
sets in, every other beat
feet falling into it, back beat
the end the end, come up to the front


never give a preacher, I say
never give a preacher a microphone
there's money in it
money in the microphone


and absolute money corrupts
absolutely, absolute money corrupts
there's money in it
money in the microphone


someones's hitting heads
little cabbages of money
got a world wide microphone stick
thwack, thwack thwack thwack, crapture


thwack, thwack thwack thwack, wacko
saintify, all shout at once, say saintify
the pope of the pederests, everybody say
saint pederesto protect us, thwack thwack


thwack thwack thwack, crapture

Nagasaki Day

Nagasaki Day

Oh, you say it's not Nagasaki Day
and you may be right
or you may not know Nagasaki Day

'cuz the Bomb didn't strike exactly
as targeted - at city center - rather burst
over a Catholic Church in a poor neighborhood
for Nagasaki there was no collateral damage
we hadn't invented the term, means to obscure death
so we can't very easily talk about Nagasaki
and besides, WE DON'T DO THAT NOW...
although we reserve the right.

we have vaults with film of Nagaroshima
color photos of puddles of skin
but in order to see them, find them,
you have to believe it's Nagasaki Day

It wasn't me, you say, that chose Nagasaki
and so I don't celebrate. I honor Hiroshima
because it was first.

Shock and Awe like Blitzkrieg
drone drops not Nagasaki
'cuz the joystick jockeys in aircon Vegas trailers
paint their death and watch it
dulled by a flickerhypno screen

maybe they're flying air Nagasaki
in a small way, you say.
there may be Collateral Damage...
The drones aren't carrying nukes

But I say every day is Nagasaki Day,
we reserve the right...

-bob phillips
8/3/2011

seedbank of shames

seedbank of shames

when the secrets spawned
'shrooms of Japan, cinder and flay

the Ministry of Terrible Shames
sent witnesses in, who filmed in technicolor the crusted streets
and dollied through shells of Church and Work
some few pausing to take a view of festering
flesh and pain stoic faces
in drop zones set for entire cities
to char the enemy; children and worshipers, combatants all

the Ministry made excuses
cut films to advertize terrible effectiveness
of Shames bombs, so they could bomb Shames again

However, they were frightening to see in color
so the Ministry of Shames marked them Top Secret
and hid them in the Archives of Shames
and suppressed other films that caused fear of Shames

even now, when power stations of Shames spew out
the Ministry protects the Bomb and Power of Shames.
even as we try to speak of it, they hide Shames
filter Shameful news...
you must know Shames are there, to find them

bob phillips
8/3/2011