The Trapped Truth Society ~ member Cassie Smyth's Poetry

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MosquitoHawks

Times:NewRoman

what are they doing here? why won't the birds eat them? where are the birds? what is that damn noise? incessant tapping echoes suburbia erratically ticking it's my fingers on the concrete marking impatient time it's the noise of my eyelashes tangled in my hair it's the sound of my cigarette burning away too quickly it's not birds no, it's the mosquito hawks smashing their soft heads into solids
(Sunday @ 4 IX,2 [Summer 2003])

Open your eyes.
Long have we waited to wake up.

But what a cruel alarm.

I have been sleeping under city lights,
satellites, and occasional
visible stars
(stars?)

I have been lulled to sleep,
by the flickering television,
the media has assured me
there is nothing I can do.

I swim up
through visions of the naked emperor
the burning olive branches,
the applauding conventions,
the shackled diplomats.

The reports,
the allegiances,
the future
is all shifting liquid.

Harsh fluorescent reality
finds the whore already here,
her red and dried hooves rattling through Babylon,
aborted peace flying overhead.

We perched on the edge of nuclear winter,
hoping she would not notice us.

But she has SEEN!
And she has Medusa's eyes,
the fire of the gods,
the apothecary's poison,
and she
has
seen

Yet the peasants look surprised
forming a perfect "oh" with their mouths,
a mirror of the blast radius

that seemed to say
"Why aren't I dizzy anymore?" None had foreseen
that the world would cease spinning

The great city went black,
and for once,
we all looked into the stars
(the stars!)
and wondered.
(Sunday @ 4 IX,2 [Summer 2003

Cassie Smyth _________________

Cassie Smyth
_________________