Sunday, August 30, 2009

Cowardice from the '70s

My love, do you remember
the love of September 11, 1972?
I was with you, elementary
as rudimentary sex on a sallow,
sifting chemical boost.

My love, it wasn't raining.
And the neighbor's new b&w
TV declaring insidiousness,
furious decisiveness, less
derision than infusions.

My love, I was a child.
And now, old as auld lang signs
and symbols replete in lectures
and conspiracy theories, I too
give you my blasphemies---

but free now of the danger, or
the necessary boldness, or
bombasts and socialistic
baldness. I am, thank you,
a silt with semiconductor blues.

'Tis not to say the times
are way, way better. Indeed
I can testify to a dry spell,
a swell in inanities, flash
corporate bows & violences.

In fact, to say: things haven't
changed that much, and
historicity is not, that
cities are nuts, provinces
belting towards rot, impatiences.

'Tis not to say too I've learned.
On the Net I witness sallow,
sifting distillery boosts on
rainy days, when derisions
declare not, disclaim well.


May 16, 2007 - August 30, 2009

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