The Mind

The Mind


It’s like the Hanseatic League

thriving on trade and new business.

It calculates like bankers in Zurich.

It weighs and stacks ingots,

tracks odds and bets on Belmont and Preakness,

the Grand National, rugby, and cricket.

Even in war, its numbers can be fun,

as long as the boundaries and bullets

are moving away from us,

but closer to Moscow or Venus,

to Baghdad or Mars,

or to whichever destination

our shepherds proclaim

is in the thrall of a new Hitler today.


The devil resides on its chessboard;

in shell games and deceptions.

And it loves nothing better

than to wave a false flag

to make the other side

of the world’s brain take the blame.

It will never consider

that every flesh-and-blood pawn of ourselves

is gone forever and can’t be redeemed

once it’s sacrificed on that chessboard

to the mind’s heartless queen.


But what about the heart,

though it can muster no host

against bishop or king,

though it can finance no fleet?

Can any of it survive

the suicide of the world’s mind

or the beginning

of the countdown

from ten to naught,

to Thanatos or the Keres,

to a whimper or a shriek?

What are you looking for?