Wednesday, January 21, 2009

In Union

a two year old reaches for the hand of his mother
licks his lips and looks up toward the high collegiate ceilings
as the anarchists gab at a table adjacent--pipe dreams of pipe bombs
and the world after--a nicer place to live

I'm miles away in a desk cross the Union
wondering where it all belongs and how big it really is 
and of the sound of all the lines spoke to no ears--in thin air
they are louder than these
dwarfed by eternity filled with what I'll never know--
is the sum of the self even worth calculation?
and if so--through what means?
the laid?
the publications?
or the arms on the coffin?
for I must be mistaken in this Real World--in its essence and actuality
graced with a platform and a megaphone
lovers parents mouth and school 
heroes with broken spines

surely the state has buried Giants
fed their possessions to flame
and sent up with smoke
canons etched pallid invisible canvas and strings of the souls eternally discarnate 


  1. ...pipe dreams of pipe bombs
    and the world after -- a nicer place to live

    i like it