Thursday, September 24, 2009

Simple Life Sans Marx

All right, so the vocabulary may be simple,
I'll whistle only to a bus' sighs, permit my
daughter's flying kite to get near my 15th
floor terrace, Beatles singing Michelle, the
French stanza, and have yet to ask aunties
when they're coming back home, an island
to reclaim their souls here on a tiled floor
with the occasional birds' braving cereals.

Okay. And my dictionary by the rails could
kill a baby passing on this windy morning,
with cable TV blaring its own vocabulary
and very, very articulate criticism of art.

Have I forgotten the hours? I smile & fart.

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