A Circle Only Has One Direction

I

All I know is
that it's not
there
and I feel
empty.
Aviation fuel burns
almost invisibly
and at a low heat.
Slowly, if left on any surface
outside of the jet aircraft engine
in which it was intended
and originally formulated
to constantly fill,
mechanically pumped
by motorised, pressure-providing device.
Along with an oxygen/hydrogen mixture,
(and the powdered feathers
of a demonic,
'Flame Bird',
unsuspectingly caught
by The Chiefs
in a green glass bell jar,
during a black magic,
voodoo ceremony,
called at the crossroads,
at midnight
that full Moon night,
in nineteen thirty two,
to at last arrive
a decade later
directly above the flames
on a hearth log
in a gargantuan fireplace
in a castle in the hereto
before unknown,
(once) secret,
Mars colony biosphere.

This spectral bird's body,
by rabid alchemists
high on drugs of their own design,
was,
after confinement,
frantically,
by their gloved
long,
bony fingers,
dismembered...
de-boned,
Then,
by an ingenious,
yet, incomprehensible,
(under the laws of nature
as we currently know them),
and unique process,
compartmentally packaged
and dispensed in
undocumented numbers
of tiny,
scarlet,
rubber-band wrapped,
elastic-asbestos
hybrid material composed phials.
Then utilised to initiate,
'Instant Death'
to all
of Their enemies.
And that, right up to
what we cosily refer to, as,
'the present moment'.

This magic dust,
mixed secretly
in measures as valuable
as thousands of tonnes
of flawless diamonds
but only ever
in a volume
microscopic,
to be then clandestinely mixed
by Their secret agents
by Moonlight
into the fuel storage vats
and then to be burst
into semi-transparent
blue flame
by the electrical pulsation
of the sparking bristles
of the igniter
as they
combine and exit
and propel,
from jet-spray nozzle
tip-ended, shiny
metal pipes,
as the machines fly.

All I know is,
that her Mum appeared
on the front cover of,
'The Australian Women's Weekly'
going off
at the crowd
of placard bearing
death penalty supporters
on the outside
of the court-house,
and,
after that,
you,
and I,
both know,
there's no going back.

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

How do you do this?! Brilliant diatribe describing the death-mechanics of the death-perpetrators that are clandestine and unjudged, while their families charade as do-gooders who take offense at the death-penalty. Ideas, irony and imagery here as sharp as hara-kiri sabers- "and the powdered feathers of a demonic 'Flame Bird'"..."gloved long,bony fingers, dismembered, de-boned"..Manifesto against the war-machine.Bravo!