Click here to listen to Todd Hearon read this poem.
Man is a weapon of mass destruction. Eliminate man you don’t eliminate the Problem. As dog to its own filth, so man returns
a swarm, a fungus, feeding on destruction—
as when a child I fed upon my dreams
adrift in a pool rainbowed with chemicals
a child already dead, intent on death.
Think of the thousands I marshaled to destruction
five hundred years, having fed upon the earth
(there is no better rhyme with death than earth)—
I tore the heart from Montezuma’s bride.
I saw Bikini as a nippled blast.
Moon rises at moth rise. I dream a jungle
from my fruitless cot. I dream my father
spidering the walls of the house in anger.
I sleep. I dream my feudal fruitless wars.
I dream of peace the dovewhite dawn explodes.
Man is a weapon of mass destruction.
I know this now. Man’s the best rhyme for war.