![]() Nightwatchman's Song
After Heinrich I. F. Biber I What's unseen may not exist Or so those secret powers insist That prowl past nightfall, Enabled by the brain's blacklist To fester out of sight, So we streak from bad to worse, Through an expanding universe And see no evil. On my rounds like a night nurse Or sentry on qui vive, I make, through murkier hours, my way Where the sun patrolled all day Toward stone-blind midnight To poke this flickering flashlamp's ray At what's hushed up and hidden. Lacking all leave or protocol, Things, one by one, hear my footfall, Blank out their faces, Dodge between trees, find cracks in walls Or lock down offices. Still, though scuttling forces flee Just as far stars recede from me To outmost boundaries, I stalk through ruins and debris, Graveyard and underground. Led by their helmetlantern's light Miners inch through anthracite; I'm the unblinking mole That sniffs out what gets lost or might Slip down the world's black hole. II (ending his rounds, the watchman, somewhat tipsy, returns) What's obscene?just our obsessed, Incessant itch and interest In things found frightful: In bestial tortures, rape, incest; In ripe forbidden fruit Dangling, lush, just out of reach; Dim cellars nailed up under each Towering success, The loser's envy that will teach A fierce vindictiveness, The victors' high court that insures Pardon for winners and procures Little that's needed But all we lust for. What endures? Exponential greed And trash containers overflowing With shredded memos, records showing What, who, when, why 'Til there's no sure way of knowing What's clear to every eye: The heart's delight in hatred, runny As the gold drip from combs of honey; The rectal intercourse Of power politics and money That slimes both goal and source. What's obscured?what's abscessed. After inspection, I'd suggest It's time we got our head Rewired. I plan to just get pissed, Shitfaced and brain-dead. From Volume 183, Number 1, October 2003 Copyright © The Poetry Foundation |