Fighting for Survival

There was a poem that struggled its way out into the world, then had a hard time of it; ultimatley, it didn't pull through. Not all of it, but part of it worked. Now it's just searching for that right way to be whole again.


From the Dissolution of Weapons


Well, how about that for a yard?
Like any staging ground too
big, too troublesome to be of any use,
you can’t really manage it,

no rubbish to see for the ruined.

Monstrosities lumbered the earth
through war to make it here. Machines
full of toothsome gears gnashed the air;
throats of ragged pipes swallowed
the sky, just to collapse from their last
bulimic expiration.

There’s enough material there
to rust a project right out
of its process, a bone
out of its socket.

Junk for miles
and overgrown

the past materials,
the functions of last days.

We’ve come this far though,
haven’t we? Out of the scrubland
with tools, slabs, iron; and
now wet sand towers crumbled
by this old sun; each horizon a
playground of failure.

Is this how we measure progress?
the evolution of debris….