The girl lies supine at ground zero and can’t find

her stingless bum buzzing his containment dome.

The spanking newborn worms his way up the steel lap

toward the piercing nuclear smell of nipples.

Her bare foot caught in a speculum that illumes

a bug upset why man wears his foreskin cut.

How could he know where to go?

Should have chased her in the night.

But he ran back home to doubt and cower.

The boy detonates the watchtower but his terror

dons a hard hat brimming stone to bend ten cones.

His head in the cloud beams gold shock waves to the dove

from the mushroom where for once words don’t meddle.

The bright minaret calls in Fidel to buck up

the bronking bomb that communes the body’s bread.

How could he know what to be?

Should have stood tall in the light.

But the speaker said to duck and cover.

A crutch for the crip who can’t stand up to the thought

that readymade rays negate (or not) his brain.

Skyscrapers collapse in the greatest show on art

impossible in the whole cosmic puddle.

The lean prophet prays at the window as the screen’s

biocleansing genesis turns transparent.

How could he know what to see?

Should have exposed white on white.

But he learned only to dodge and color.

The entrepreneur builds a vessel to play games

to train young men to fly drones to kill their home.

The fat king burns down bitter talent buried long,

and lifts up high to multiply cynics’ shackles.

The blood’s copper taste of hug and sip the last time

he popped his flask from a fleet quicksilver hip.

How could he know what to do?

Should have given unseen sight.

But he became far too dumb and clever.