The Optimism of S.Z.
How charming. He confesses,
world prize in frigid hands,
the absurdity of his position,
dispensing reimagined gospels to his father's kin.
In Berlin. How charming. In Berlin.
The dearth of irony, the crosshatched aesthetic
imprisoned in his blood. The pathos of platitudes
and commodified betrayals.
How charming the smoldering kitchen
where his mother counts for nobody.
Only his father's class and color and contentment,
only his father's law and reason can count.
Only his father's fatal finger
can trace the religion of his face.
How charming to rebless ignorance.
lampshades of skin,
though they can. How charming.
Denial informs his flaring nostrils, his tattooed lips
How charming now the banal melodies.
Forget. Forgive. Justify oblivion.
Oblivion. How charming. Oblivion.
Canonize blinding optimism
for swine who swill pearls.
How charming to abstain from charm.
Jerry W. Ward, Jr.
15 December 2016