March of the Greenbacks

Dollar bills march along oblivion's precipice.
Lemmings follow skulking greenbacks to
The abyss, where letters and number—
G5, G8, IMF—Bingo!…and a spate of hate
Fall hellbent to mordent lakes that envelop us.

The bleak and darkened sky cries out,
Expels the filth of inhuman folly
Set against "alternative facts" jolly.
Oil spills, like blood from arid crevices,
Grease overstuffed pockets of ignoramuses

Viruses consume their brains,
Turn inside out the remains of hearts,
Deride the sage words of youth,
And punctuate conclusions with farts,
All while ice sheets overflow the drains.


Beware the Ides of Marching

Gaping gargoyles of Gullivers traveled,
Hell bound homophobes from horrid hamlets,
Formidable fops flit feverishly forward,
Ivory imbeciles’ inimitable impishness,
Elegiac embers of eliminated elders,
Dogged dullards divide and diminish.

Robert Hieger
    May 9, 2019

Artifacta con Bravado

The world of tomorrow is here!
Artificial intelligence,
Artifice, Artemis, Arcturus, Bravura,

All bedfellows of bluster and hubris
Command us to usher in the fledgling,
Artifact come of age.

The shining pearl of wisdom
Come from the logic gate of the divine,
Trifecta of the soul, mind and anti-soul,
Will the real intelligentsia please lie down?
Unearth the sacred clown?
Elicit more than cynical frown?

Intelligence lies,
intelligent lies,
Intelligence vies for something else,
Something new,
Something borrowed,
Something blue, but something true.

Ignorance, an artificial state of suspended hibernation,
Voluntary stupidity kowtows to a shiny sex goddess,
A machine learner embedded within the orgone box,
Cassandra, profit of boon, of techno-riches,
But not so fast, not so fast.
Technologist, heal thyself!

Whence emerges the artificial pearl?
Malign not the sex goddess who mirrors our ideas,
Erect not pedestals for silicon chips that might fall.
Is not intelligence the honest act of admitting,
“I don’t know, help me”?
Is there in this liaison anything artificial?

Robert Hieger
January 14, 2019

Lady in the Harbor

The Statue of Liberty is mooning the world,
Her flowing robes billowing in the wind,
Her torch extinguished by the salty sea air,
Her crown plunging into the harbor
With an ear-splitting splash.

For more than a century
She bore witness to the dregs of humanity
Who crossed her shores
In hopes of a dream deferred
A dream of opportunity demurred.

Her lamp lit the harbor and illuminated it,
But more often hung a smokescreen,
A curtain wall to sweatshops,
Choking with tears, with spilt blood
Of young immigrant girls.

To the west, the Lady in the Harbor
Bowed her tacit consent to
The smallpox of Manifest Destiny,
Sapping the souls of aboriginals,
Exploiting bodies of Mexican laborers.

For their troubles, what did they get?
An eviction notice that reverberates,
Spreading its evil leitmotif across centuries
Only to be transcribed anew as MAGA,
Oh, MAGA-lomaniac, where did you come from?

Let's admit that we are the usurpers.
America for Americans?
Perhaps we should all leave.

—Robert Hieger
January 14, 2019