Dear NSA, here is a poem about you. I thought you might enjoy the allusion to “Casablanca” – you know, Bogey and “Here’s lookin’ at you, Kid” as he walks off into the darkness of the world. Your romantic mission of finding the evil needle in the haystack must be mind numbing, so I thought when you run across this blog post in your surveillance you might chuckle a little. I hope you enjoy this ‘poem noir’.
“….As I write, highly civilized human beings are flying overhead, trying to kill me. —George Orwell
His stare crawls up her neck
like the chill of the siren in a dark alley. Under his cold will
invisible between the moments that leash her
to her life, she sways naked in his dream to phantom saxophones.
A remote outpost of forgotten charm rains down as fears sometimes do – vanity’s reflection in the eyes of innocence. Darkness coils
under the black hat cocked over his empty eye, a puddle
resting in a crevice. Secrets, power,
and underwear bombs seep like black oil runs
as civilized men slaughter – another oxymoron. Civilized men – the oxymoron hides on the tips of our tongues as the ticking bomb in the underwear of us.
In slow-motion, secrets worn unroll in code – a poem of America.
—B.D. Silverback, 2013
During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act. —George Orwell
Everyone has the ability to develop a comfortable platform from which to live raw, naked, and sacred. —Doctor of Values