the gun point of convention

while the philosopher fared poorly against
the red-knuckled  pugilist  
 
and the doctor fared worse against  
the headless corpse  
 
the incredulity of thomas was easily assuaged  with a bedside story  
and a jumbo jet  
 
until the under-bed monsters began scratching  and the puzzled planes dismembered guests  
 
were never found in the pacific  
 
and the up down rhetoric of money  
proclaimed the murderers as the victims  
 
thus requiring a few more stints  in the  
flight simulator to ennoble credulity  
 
but virtual wings and a knighting from the king  never stopped a bullet to the brain  
 
as the golden scented gifts of the magi  
never balmed marys cry or the babys wail  
 
we’ll leave that to the trees and  leaves said the wind pulled along by the  moon  
 
soon enough the sun will pretend the day anew  and the charade of acting  
together will prevail  
 
the hieroglyphics of  shrugs good mornings and how are yous the shoes the car the commutes the stop and go  
ledgers of the clock  
 
the futility of escaping this dream of “freedom”  held hostage  
at the gun point of convention  
 
but there are deserters from this war of regularity rushing back to the wood mothers snake-hair thorns  
 
for a few drops of blood sacrifice to spring fledgling songs nesting in a million fist shaped hearts