Mark James Littler


Awake Liar; awake
a child remembers fabulous massacres
to comfort the dying of normal voices, blue ending of bitter blast tears.

I watch, listening, crushing
All young soldiers dreaming the modern sickness, homespun the hero torturing and raping, passion with the radio on, kicking out music.

strike out laugh at puppets with madmen.
pause for emotion

shows me a daughter lips on barbed wire.
gods with white faces,
babies crawling with maggots, deserving to die

It’s not my problem
this far and certain happening, a child without sleep, a cry without remembering.

I change the sensation
spared dreadful meaning, ugly responses.
I don’t have to see the zero of nations,
pale open history, old men alive.

intruding poison and turning and children invisible who are ruining the cosmos with their bent pickled faces distracting from beauty, bleeding black sounds.

I watch a strange kind of memory, so dull, so hungry that only talks of disturbing
I gaze at the glowing glass to shudder at fiction, dry whitened death, but humans with likeness of Martians
in no way is it painless, this loss of attention.
offloading of judgment, turning aside.