Thursday, February 20, 2014


There, I find you in uncertain ablaut relation
To Old High German roots
With a vowel perhaps, deflecting you over time

From some base pipe in a bag of wind to a more modern
Tuning of strings,
Monotonous, unrelated to martial endeavors.

Such an odd contortion of the mapping mind horizon
Pattern-matching its way through history: Homo.
We'll look up in blighted wonder at your unvarying,

With the silent, projected and dutifully embarrassing means
Of aspirational empire servicing its selfsame survival…
You, known only from the periphery, virtual and iconic

Deftly moving, directed, a meta-force,
The meticulous and unscrupulous
Voyeur, now mastering the stolen heavens,

Malevolent in a universe void of judges,
Finding your home

In the gray matter of imagination destroyed.
 Kevin Swanwick