Hanging around my neck the soul
of the twentieth century,
still warm from its dark cremations.
Looking
into its eyes I suggest a final number.
I hear millions and millions of voices.
The innocent conduct house to house
searches and like
grim fathers the evil return with flowers.
Green with animal nature,
the blood of countless races oozes out
of the death of its unspeakable hands.
Hoarse screams and blind laughter reach
a climax and coagulate. I snap my fingers.
I pass out rushes of light.
Returned from trances with peaceful and
calm revelations the children of snow
coloured forests and dangerous inventions.
http://www.stellarshowcasejournal.com/spring2012/austin.mccarron.html
