Jerome Rothenberg

AMERICA/2017

The President of Desolation

 1/

that farce

replaces tragedy

obscene

even to think it

& yet to come

into another age

& find it

proven true

this is the price of

growing old

the progress truly

of a state

of mind

America

the center

both

of mind

the gap

& mindless

space

2/

not farce but madness

from the start

the roots of tragedy

embedded

in the barely human

ready to bring us down

to which he leads us

in a dream

almost as deadly

as a tunnel

the mind winds through

seeing the sky ahead

but kept from it

by stumbling

tumbling where the face

of someone like

a swollen clown

steps forth

whose fat cheeks grow

enormous while his body

shrinks    until he stands

before us like a tiny

naked man who neither

thinks nor dreams

when in the morning sun

his face escapes him

in the empty mirror

he must ask the sky

to bring it back to him

hapless to find his way

the rage inside him

slides into his mouth

from which he vomits

words & empty sounds

his name the only

meme he knows

he is the cockeyed boss

the president of desolation

chin thrust forward

arms akimbo

legs astride

the world his crucible

a body without shape

that shrinks

& drives his mind out

through his eyes

whose teeth still clatter

syllables cut free

with this the world

will end & time

return to endless space

not to be counted

past what the fabled

start was

& the end to come

3/

while down to earth

a fool sits

on the throne

a king

by his own counting

wrapped in gold

the ground beneath him

also gold

the buckle on his belt

even the belt itself

the buttons on his shirt

all gold

gold is his heart

the rumble in his gut

gold’s essence

blowing golden farts

& on his golden briefs

a stain of gold

for which all women

flock to him

all men bow down

his ring is gold

& held against your cheek

leaves gold behind

not truly gold

but close enough

to make his suitors pause

his dross

turned golden

in their sight

how loyal

little men become

losing all thought

of sacrifice

& ardor

for the common good

4/

in acts of

cruelty

the past

comes back

to life

never more true

than when

he wages

war against

the sky

the door to heaven

opens   closes

at his touch

fat angels

crowd around him

some adhering

to his flesh

the burning babes

in fancy dreams of

god & power

with an eye

that turns

from those below

his notice

or regard

the world

his mirror

fragile hands

hiding his face

& eyes

too safely blind

he will not

see you now

or me

outside his dreams

he stalks

his shadow &

his only love

the voice returning

when he dies

5/

deeper down

the hole

he digs for us

by digging *                           * dealing

pit where pity

drops away

letting the dead

stay dead

or raising

images

too cruel

by far

the scorn

a frail man

spews

into the air

until the world

around him

bursts with voices

calling back

repeating

endlessly the words

he shows them

trolling

finding the hidden

hole his fingers

fat & swollen

open in his mouth

then raises
his frail arm
in feigned
salute

26.x.17