“Concentration Sister”


Always free, I believed you from the start
steadily – though I didn’t know you – from top to bottom,
sure to deliver, you floated
above islands of the atom age,
railroads of the hobo escapades
trips in time to before the Industrial
Revolution, thanks to post-industrial machines
ocean liners to America, honeymoons in Cuba
but that was later on, first you came weird
on dawn’s doors, yearning simplicity, minimal animal
crashing screen oceans, nomad tents at sunrise
repeating mossy primeval tales, giving me reasons to be human,
with bare sun drifting above you,
doors crashed, & in time, you turned to nurse a bigger kill,
the ocean repeated your lies, dates became transparent,
eventually, you ran out of dates, became a learner,
first aid to averted hands fixing broken paper, as if
paper of life could be broken, inch by inch, during
fearless monsoons, monstrous evidence
they found in my pockets, sketches for songs & stage plays
& anti-regime poems,
trapped us both outside the diverted highway, set it slightly loose,
tight behind the steel fence, so we could observe our death
trapped in officer’s fist
while waiters called for lunch
light made nonsense now, no attention was paid
to your thought, so sick allegoric rats sold your craft & turned to
eat peculiar materials, armed, stuffed generals, intersections & sections
of our fathers’ codex, now tattooed on your forearm,
plain ink numbers you’ll always keep
I’m resting in your hands, accepting the fault,
awaiting the flaws to kick in, we have means & treatments,
say those outside, we’ll get you out of the camp,
rest now in her hands, your troubles this Mary shall soothe,
she’ll fit in your pocket, she shines in the dark, Americans made her,
they also invented salvation, now jump or fly, move this thinned out body
exercise the complex law of the few, saved, beaten down,
but complete – you weren’t given degrees for nothing – now troops
are landing, it won’t take long, they know we are the last ones –
let the carnal play begin, I couldn’t care less for my body
now that my moonshine jazz & poems
should carry you forever, past this pulp of tortured flesh
you’ll leave now behind with others, unforgotten concentration sister

Copyright © 2012 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.