On Viewing Picasso’s “Minotaurmachy”
When I was five…..
I Saw Roy Rogers on the ride
Stopping and rearing up
On Golden trigger
I saw Kruschev pound his shoe
On my coffin
Heard Hitler’s echoes
In nauseous fear
Saw my Dad weep
Shoulders shaking, head on the table
Staring at the erased drawing that was
His life.
“If thou didst ever thy dear Father love-“
Fumigate the plumes
Of mind gases
From a culture murdered most foul.
Turn from the talk
That creates dark bones
That moan for another beer
A tit or a hit off the crack pipe.
It is ether burning on paper
Sailing blithely down wires
Surrounded by clouds
That drip nuclear rain on a brain
That longs for deepest silence.
Save the sagging cries of the downed prophets
Drowned, Shot and bled blue
Still speaking of the small boy’s death
He was the one
Who dared hold the candle up
To the Minotaur’s face.
Joshua Kight 12/9/10