I sit in one of the dives
At Jone's Beach
Uncertain and Celebratory
As the clever hopes lift me above
The low dishonest decade:
Waves of empathy and compassion
Circulate over the brilliant
And darkened sandboxes of the earth,
Obsessing over private lives;
The unmentionable gossip of death
Offends the June night.
Accurate court-reporting can
Unearth the whole, bloody, offense
From Luther until now--Post-haste!--
That has driven a culture mad,
Finding Lindsey Lohan lacking,
What beauties imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and a million Iraqis know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return. However, those
Millions were occupied.
Exiled George knew
All that a whisper can say
About Democracy
And what Good People do.
The withering rubbish they spout
To an all-too silent grave;
Analyzed, by Generations of Boomers
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming Vonnegut,
Along with a Mismanagement of the Budget:
We must suffer them
In other more stately guises
Again.
Into this Swiss-like air
Where blind skyscrapers reach
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Soul,
Each wordsmith pours their vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an Cabana's dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
With Michael Jackson faces
And the international String Quartet,
bids us all farewell!
Faces along the bar
Cling to their sweaty pints:
The lights must be lit on the porch,
The music must speak for them All,
All the tongue-waggers conspire
To make this Arsenal-punter's abode
Assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we stand,
Lost in a hallowed wood,
Children dreaming,
Soft dreams of armies at Night
Who've never been coddled or shunned.
The militant clowns
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Newman wrote
About Alfred
Is true of the satiric heart; so,
What me worry?, aye,
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man who
Craves marriage, along with
Gay People
have,
Not universal love
But to be loved as you would a
Divorce Lawyer.
From the Conservative Jive
Into the eternal life
The dense commuters come,
(Paying the bitched fare-hike)
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the conductor,
I'll concentrate more upon savings,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their Sanford-like games:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach them when they're 6,ooo friggin'
Miles away!
Who can speak for these idiots!!!!!?
All I have is a voice
And, blessed is this
'Cause I'm losing it.
The romantic lie upon beach towels,
Naked.
Of the sensual man-in-the-grey-felt-hat,
And the lie of Atlas
Whose statues grope the breasts of
Megan Fox:
There is no such thing as the next Day,
And no one exists on a pill-box;
Hunger allows tummy-rumbles
To the People or the Coppers;
We must love one another or Fly!.
Defenseless under the sunscreen
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, quite speckled, everywhere,
Ironic points of confusion
Flash out wherever TMZ
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and Erections,
Beleaguered by the same
Newer words and desperate prose,
Show an affirming flame.
[thanks, Auden]
x,William H. Balzac. 6/30/09
|
|
It seemed simple, how you walked the earth, carrying his rib into your future. The Earthworks were small then; battlements, and barricades were invisible, without any thought to War. The pastures were your magic carpet, laid out, spread across miles and miles of green. In the heavens, the big guy looked down in wonder, re-making all the rules of Temptation a blue bit of Knowledge for the coming generations. The full-blown Sixties would see you free; love, in constant flux, was a cautionary tale, gathered by the wise and infirm. For one, shining moment, History became a tablet, always re-written.
![Friend AWARD ["click it"]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGkrmpMXRgN3wgtdFE-3HafI1vCK2ZJnCjOTTcA4eNpG-GxnOXAuX39uViZoo-peHs35grO0zbC51ES4xoNMDMhsvxrnfFZuL55FGG1L2vz2UUNOyet77V9oOd_hbQfwHsKS2F4LlSlA/s220/Friends_Award.jpg)
