Josh Bowden

Good God!
Outrageous!
To think of it!
Total destruction!
...

A Mother's love the walls that guard
Her stern rebuke the cannon ports
Her watchful eye a barbican
A mother is a fort
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Wherefore you flit before my mind
And perch upon my furrowed brow?
Whence came this love once confined,
Revealed hence as hill's subtle brow,
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To trepan us all with wit and wile
And dig to find what makes us tick
To woo us knowingly with wink and smile
And infect our blood as mite or tick
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Bukowski's hole in the wall
The literal one- I saw
There were probably many more
That I never saw
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I relished Winter's cold, dry, crisping clime.
The hard ground; the invigorating frost
Encouraged my hands in their work. I find
More joy coming in from frigid chaos
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This is the Common Age
Writ on vellum of human flesh
Of the millions dead,
burnt and dried by the quicklime
...