The death's head dagger
Your grandad
Took off of
That dead ****
The scooter
From the chase
Of Diana's paparazzi
That banner that read
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
When George W
Landed that fighter
On that warship
In the Persian gulf
Good luck
Selling that stuff.

Mark Rothko said it was always with him
No skull and crossbones needed
As through the canvas
You go swimming
He cared not for
Narrative
Or subtext
And such
Just how it made
You feel
Down deep
In your guts
The terror
The love
Overwhelming weight
That of history
And suffering
Belonging
And hate
Like smudged details of the universe
Doors without locks
A place he didn't put messages
A dead letterbox.

What I'm not
is more important
than what I am
therein
is truth
and authenticity
contained-
the intrinsic grain

for what I am
is but externally framed
by convention
and self-protection-
an iceberg
with the water-bottom
hidden and unknown

such is the limitation
of our human nature
we struggle
to be genuine

but too often-
in vain!

The oceans know
What goes on
Upon land
And we're  told often enough
That's not true
On the other hand

We know more about the surface of the the moon

Well of course we do
It's much smaller
And there's no water
To add to the gloom

But you've got to wonder
What's down there
Biding it's time
Monitoring the air.