I was on the road to a surprise
and the sunrise scratched at my window
long before the high above
Satchmo sang Brecht in German.
Bavaria breathed a flurry of yellow leaves.
Wine whirlpool.
The naked form of gluttony
danced before my eyes
less funny than hippos in tutus.
Wander to the bathroom
slowly, drop the seat,
no time of day,
there’s nothing better to do.
Hotel room.
Do you care this is about a person, not people;
does it matter this is about everyone, not me?
The plate is greasy in the restaurant
the food slides off and we might eat it
but do not, we were born full.
Song empty.
We are weakness strong in number -
Marx was right, he was wrong,
he knew the answer could
only be imposed or
no one would get it.
He knew I didn’t deserve to know.
Pain teacher.
Tear lake.
Swan dead.
First bird flu.
Millions.
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4 comments:
When the going gets tuff I escape into my head, the news occasionally catches me by accident an overheard word or two, a headline from the papers, but mostly I avoid it like the plague. Most of the things they scare us with never happen. If it does well I will have spent a few days pleasently before the knowllage hits. I like how this flows with the thought patterns
Thanks Sue! This is the memory of my first trip to Kazakhstan. Unfortunately it isn't a story poem so it doesn't do that event accurately. It got a bit preoccupied with doing something else with words. Thanks for the insightful comments. Sometimes it just seems that news is dry trash waiting for the chance to ignite. I was trying to create a sort of mini-language here to use in the last stanza.
I think it works it's as those headlines hit you they always make you cringe and desturb you happyness and that I think is their intention
I think we have a common significant factor. I hate the news and make it the last of my wasted efforts. It is such horific waste of emotional energy. Poor buggers, they must be competitive for interest among
that lovely group of people who watch serials as a major function of their daily important activity. Of course, we come home too, after a hard day's effort, and want a little something to chew on. Better be more tasty than the silly crap of the water cooler. or the teacher's break room. I'm usually so tired from doing class, I have no desire to talk. I can never understand the chatty Cathy group. Therefore the most recient bit of international parinoia is my last interest. I go to the web. There must be a real word there. If not, then bed 'e bye. This chase for substance is too exhausting. My happines is a fragile thing, certainly better to put it to bed than assault it further with human stupidity!
Yes, they definitely intend it. I couldn't agree more.
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