la tsar bomba

the big anise hit
unloading and
curdling the atmosphere
took us up with it

two dreams-
up in smoke
the discourse on the method
the discourse on immortality

just fifty short years ago -
"so many men,
such little time"
the revolution has barely begun

emerging from the mess
in round glasses – the messiah
and in Spanish boots – the cowboy
both blew their minds, later on

things are less precious in the 21st
mundane problems like
war, depression, drought
don’t make a gestalt crisis moment

the bomb got folded into
the blancmange of modern life
with peace, drugs, credit cards
and it was like cynics won the battle

the same guys who wore bowler hats
now get around in jags
I like both disguises
I recognise the person inside them

it is the comfort zone
that kills us
our failures
are what make us foolproof

we are so used
to being on top
we have become plastered
to the debt ceiling

becoming unstuck
eventually
as we fall
we will realise the freedom we have bought

the brush of the breeze
will be invigorating
and after the collision with the ocean floor
we will lie in a dream, looking up at the watery moon

that’s what I predict –
a funfair of our own demising
without fanfare
plummeting through still air