Anthony Weir Poems

(Book of Ecclesiastes)

The twist, the torque in our brains
that caused language
...

In dark courts and entries
between cold urinals
long since demolished
where men looked over and down
...

Because all gods are now bred in gulags
...

I, a priest of egregiousness
cursing miserable wisdom
...

Irish fields are bleak
even in summer when the grass is high for silage.
They are prisoners,
beaten up, interned behind barbed wire,
...

The moon in a veil
as if it had coldly evolved an ego.
...

My invisible, other true friend, Brother Zoti Lamort,
...

...is progression of madness.
...

True poetry is to prose
not as dancing is to walking, but
as going on a pilgrimage is to
running for a bus.
...

I write on time's hem, the brink of extinction,
the end ever nearer as leaders and led become madder
and fuller of power and products
None of us more than 10%
...