Tag Archives: Martin H. Levinson

Working in the Irony Mills

by Martin H. Levinson

It is not easy working in the irony mills, smelting precious truths from life’s anarchic ore
where impurities abound and sardonic reducing agents are often insufficient
to drive off the slag and get past the hypocrisies of everyday life,
where fundamentalist religious leaders decry science and enjoy its benefits,
where a president pretends the existence of WMDs
to lead a nation into a useless and disastrous war,
where winning isn’t everything but the only thing,
blah blah blah is blah blah blah,
and blah blah blah is (you fill in the blahs).

But sardonic reducing agents, heated high with moral pique,
are all I have to yank veracity from raw pretentious elements,
so I will continue to use caustic means
to smelt precious truths from life’s anarchic ore,
where impurities abound that are heedless to sincerity.


The Accident

by Martin H. Levinson

waiting to happen happened and I
cursed my unlucky fate and
bewailed my wretched circumstance
as avoidable misfortune drew me
deep into piteous self-loathing and righteous
railing against needless adversity.

God forgave me but my nervous
system did not, rising up against me
with the physical and mental tortures
of the self-damned on the way to
eternal self-perdition with no way out
and no way back to square one.

Do over, do over, I cried to
myself like a crazed creature on
crack looking for a fix that exists
only in the deep recesses of
a mind oblivious to the anguish and
tumult of an indifferent universe.

But such screaming did not assuage or
produce an outcome other than the
outcome that came out of a mishap
restive to materialize into
restless days and nights of relentless
repugnance over destiny and folly.

They say time heals all wounds and that
may be so for those injured through no
fault of their own but for those battered
by self-inflicted idiocy the
resulting scar tissue may require
substantial psychic surgery to remove and
repair unsightly traces of self-reproach.