Grace, with traces of follow-throughs,
was never allowed to take the lead
apart from subtly accusing our throat
gargles as mere skills, stopped there,
and facing the fora armed with quiet
intolerances and fake camaraderie.
Somewhere along the way a van
dropped, incongruous, astutely
sublime but insidious, happy,
au courant, alive, and superfluous!
And somewhere beyond a stray bullet’s
trip I heard armchair candlesticks mourn
the day with symbolic jouissance, said
hey hey my my, free rock and roll would
never lie to either effervescent apathy or
trepidation: august therapeutic that you
all were to my icy bed of cynicism, I
still cannot perceive the crux of all your
argument, this luxury of fame demanded
by foundation grant charity cases. Be this
as if June, summer of enlightening solstices,
you’re still not ready to bloom in our desert,
can’t be that, cannot be but fat for Rome’s
catacombs of privilege whose names are
just crevasses of Vatican-inspired brevity.
I was lucky to be alive, of course, though
crazy for death, but here I am, fluid as lamb
and mutton casserole, forgiving shiny metal
pots around me; a division of labor, then, your
flavor of sour cream comforted by my roasted
coffee candy. Centaurs of myths, appall them
now, assurances someday you’ll show ‘em how.
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