STOLEN FROM ME
The ends of the means never really mattered; like
Joni Mitchell tried saying a long time ago : we are
stardust, we are golden. Crazy air-headed hippy
twit. It comes around to nothing, all the smattering
of the long applause. In looking up at the nighttime
sky, already Jupiter has a billboard or two.
-
I raced my Carlton to the head of the pack -
twenty-one cigarette minutes later, they all were
seen and gone. Moments in a stolen language;
comes down all to gibberish now. If God climbed
down from his mountain now, there'd be no one
there to greet him. Who invented the computer-screen
envy we're all tied up against? Not He?
-
Ten stones of granite, each with a curse? Some weird
slab of rock on fire; another Moses with a burned-up
face? Radiation marks upon human flesh - marred and
scarred for the rest of this life. I want to run and hide,
my logic is all dishevelled. I cannot any longer see.
Everything old has been stolen from me.
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