Wednesday, July 9, 2014

5563. RIO, GIVE ME A FACE

RIO, GIVE ME A FACE
Something I long for is hunkered down 
behind hedges and pilings  -  like dessert 
hiding out after a liver course. Horrible and 
tendentious stuff  -  all the crud in the world
gets filtered, and people eat that thing itself. 
I'm looking high up at citadel tower, the corporate 
head of some Langley bunch. They hide state secrets; 
they talk their smack; they have 3-course lunches on 
my and your dollars. Simple the swat that should take
their malfeasance down. I am no Superman, 
but I know what I want.
-
Rio, Rio, give me a face, cut me a tracing, stencil my 
heart. The wounds are deep and silent they run. I am 
bleeding my life out on these old cobblestones, watching 
people come and go. This building is nothing but real  -  
a piano course luncheonette just waiting my arrival. 
I overhear a man talking. He says : 'If I had wanted
something to bitch about, I could have stayed home.'

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