The Nuclear Poet

29 Mar

A human Golgotha, the bird of insanity.

A radioactive poet burns paper with his touch.

Words shun him, thrown out of rhythm,

Out of stanza, out of metre by the poet’s nuclear buzzing.

“Leave us, leave us!” they shout from the pages.

“Go live in the sea or under the layers of oil,

go away until Time has purified your bones

and we can work again!”

The poet leaves, aglow with loss

and the glow becomes the vengeance:

Or I will rise!

Rise to meet the clouds of humanity, that nuclear storm

Rise to swirl in thermic menstruation and rain blood

over my poor country.

Rise and cry down from above

I AM YOUR CHILD, I AM YOUR POET

I AM YOUR RADIOACTIVE PACIFISM.

Where am I supposed to go when the hospitals are locked

and the government is saying Don’t move, Don’t move.

I am a shadow afraid to die in the light

of torches scanning for survivors at night.

I’ll slip like a sigh under a house, under a car,

and hear the search party that hopes not to find me in this state.

A refugee in my own country, I want to be left alone to sleep.

and to cool my body’s glow to cinders

give you fuel for a thousand years.

I’ll be your ghost, the past you need

to rebuild those bright cities, to rewrite those political monologues.

I’ll lie beneath and hear my people rally and chant

on the good streets of Fukushima.

O beautiful countries that built the fatal towers of nuclear energy,

you built restlessly, aimlessly, wanting More & Cheaper & More

Hear the epilogue!

Hear your people rise against your Restless Hunger that crashed us all:

WE ARE RESTLESS NO MORE. THE RESTLESS HUNGER ENDS HERE.

 

Japanese Prime Minister Naoto Kan has said his government is in a state of maximum alert over the crippled Fukushima nuclear plant.

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