After Goya

Hola! Old friend . . .You, whose vision I’ve chased for years . . . As one from the plains who bears witness with his hands & blood in his throat . . . who speaks of the evil that men do & of the caller who knocks at every door . . .

Each day the donkey bears its burden of greed but here
in Goya’s ‘night of the soul’

the corrupt haul each other on their backs & hurl their
spears & pierce their own plump cocoons &

the dead will carry the dead / here where his monsters
gorge on the torsos of kids & his priests walk a tightrope
between their lies &

elegant women tease & flirt & are wrenched from their
mother’s tit & here a raging stallion tears her flesh &

she’ll wear a mask to hide her scars & the hag will follow
& sweep her up on a broom & sail over night &

here she’ll feed on dragon’s blood & dung & prefers a
goat to a man & have him mount & . . . & here

the war tears out the country’s throat & mutilates &
castrates & ties the bleeding parts to a tree . . . & here

a women who plucks the teeth of the dead & dogs that
gnaw the guts in the pit & here the headless corpses rot ...

& Francisco de Goya will not be satisfied – here . . . &
neither will we turn away . . . escape

the gapping & the gawking mouths . . . the grisly . . . hush.

                                             ***

(The following 'poems' are in response to Goya's drawings:

The Disasters of War

Page 7

On his knees the lone man begs to be led away.
His wide white eyes stare into a sky
all mottled & black.
He knows the future holds no salvation
in the swirl of gas & scarlet rain.

Page 11

Skirt stained with shit & blood of the fallen &
the seeping earth / she keeps the cannon
fire lit turns night to day.
‘Que Valor!’ callsGoya.

Page 13

They’ve tied your hands & covered your eyes
so you cannot see those who raise the rifles, or
him who ordered your death & hides in his
bunker his cock being sucked by your wife or
maybe your daughter too.