F.D. Marcél began as a lowly staff correspondent for the Reading Eagle newspaper. His work has appeared in various publications, both online and in print, including The Centrifugal Eye, Getgo Magazine , Juked and Zygote In My Coffee, as well as upcoming work in Cherry Bleeds and decomP. When not wandering aimlessly in search of absolutely nothing, he can be found sleeping comfortably.

A listing of his recent work can be found at www.myspace.com/tragedymachine

Failure at an anarchists' Meeting
 
There's hollering,
and of course Che Guevara t-shirts,
and threats of exposing posers postured while
the rest of the diner looks on
watching the seams of good intention split,
unravel and enact the cycle once more;
there's serious faces,
staring each other down fierce,
self-destructive obstinate personal philosophies
with no room for sacrifice
and the waitress refills the coffees once more around
to the sound of quickdrycement politics;
there's screaming,
and of course a random voice quotes Bookchin,
and there are plans to protest somewhere someday
but all hell breaks loose
when someone orders a piece of pie.
No place in the revolution for dessert.

For more, click "more" (of course)! 

Last I heard (for the friend I miss)

Heard they sent him over
in the thick of things,
Heard they promoted him
in time for the big push,
Heard he met a girl
in a different division,
Heard they got married
while on leave,
Heard they sent him back
as his daughter was crowning,
Heard his unit was hit
saw it on the news,
last I heard.

we Die celebrating and are never buried

clawing at our own soil:
we watch the seams give way
       with levees stitched together using crossed fingers
       with no war but god's war and no god but the god of war—
yet no god, yet no war—
       with excess bloodlust gone unquenched after Soviet collapse
after Reagan failed to push back the stone,
after Reagan failed to rise from the dead;
       with no child left behind and all children led astray,
       with the advent of sons and daughters
sent by lunatics
sent to lunatics
       with the God-fearing killing the God-fearing
killing the heretics, the infidels
saving the atheists for last;
       with the world cancerous and dying and its parasites constructing award-winning films about the world, cancerous and dying
yet no cure for the parasites
or their award-winning films
or their common cold;
       with 24-HOUR news channels
begging for a 25TH-HOUR
begging for more scrawled news crawls,
statistics of mass African death replaced by young socialites and their daily routine
statistics slashed and burned and mutilated beyond recognition
in the hands of pundits and papacy and their progenies
in the hands of capital gain
in hands wielding SELF;
       with care, with concern
for tribes of skin, tribes of religion, tribes of government
for god and country
for the children
for the future
for the black man
for the white man
for men
for a limited time only;
       with the age of reason's grave left unattended
and riches piled high, riches never trickled down
and the pharaohs couldn't take theirs with them
and as we raided their tombs, those that come after us will raid our MTV CRIBS to stand in awe at gold chandeliers;
       with the intelligent ape
retreating to warheads and assault rifles and rhetoric electric-blanketing rational thought
hiding behind philanthropy and peace signs;
your planted tree won't save you.
       With all of this, none of this new
history on loop
history on loop
clawing at our own soil.

Last update : 27-07-2007 19:29

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