Our Romanticism

The moons in trident,
werewolves in lingerie,
the New World is coming,
the New World is coming.

The big metal machines,
the plastic little molds,
they’re pumping them out,
the big metal machines,
the plastic little molds.

I asked you to come to a log cabin,
the place in a green Oregon forest,
but this was a vacation in retrospect,
a vacation for Two Thousand Ten.

There under three moons
General Electric® hid forever.
A United States Military hiding-cavern,
pine needles on the forest floor.

You taking them out,
you smashing their heads,
Mossacio’s screaming descendants,
Adam and Eve,
smashing their heads.

On the stones in a pine forest,
the River Clackamas down below.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
antipoémus thumbnail image Antipoémus (poetry book)

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