I'm not sure where this poem came from or where it was going....I had to let it out and shut it off.


Babylon….walking


In a curtained misty Euphrates morning
I tripped the paved ways of deities
in temples fated to time,
and conquering armies
marching drunk with visions
obscured by dunes and wind.
Temples with inner quarters hidden
behind sacrifices of flesh,
mostly children… innocent,
tasted by worshipers whispering
dreams of a hereafter
shrouded in celebration of the next Holiday.
I stumbled into Holy Rooms
commemorating a mother
and her son… Nimrod,
that great architect of ziggurats copied
from Memphis to Cahokia
(HA!! Memphis, where we had our own King…
glutted with adulation and self-deception
not to mention way too many peanut butter sandwiches),
who some misguided Priest blessed
as a god
christening her with eternal maternal divinity.


I’m in Babylon walking
awestruck by the sheer power of centuries.


Robert