Flush!! (a soldiers' armour in decline?)

+*+

FATIGUE and EQUILIBRIUM

for no-one in particular (again!)

*+*

At the sign beneath the airport
which says no smoking or firearms,
walking amid dust and reconciliation,
a mysterious gray passport draws no attention to itself.
From its eyes comes the conduct of a bland ocean, whispers,
while the limited carrying of foreign words ascend
like resolute ramps, like a conqueror whose downfall
from an endangered disease never felt more imminent...

Yet before the hero understands the ambiguous guard
staring at a stage made for a many-headed Paris,
the true face of dying light looks, not only of Athens
or Rome (or the views of an Empire
in decoration and narrative),
but of mysticism against those scenes through which
the blinds of another 'better life' seem transparent.

My favorite act in this perception
is a narcotic we've called enviroment,
as practical as a cannon
or a television screen: (easy to inflame).
Yet the one who engraves this flag-induced participation,
this cynical escape of gallantry, yields nothing more
than the staggering last stamp of a cause that resembles
a curse.