Monday, March 9, 2015

6435. NOISES ARE RUMBLING

NOISES ARE RUMBLING
The dumbest men in the world are again cutting
trees  -  small men, chattering another tongue.
It's a given task I guess they accept  -  a day's
work, a go-at-it again. Are there no trees in
Chiapas? I'd bet none at all.
-
I'd bet the Mexcian landscape is sundered already  - 
that barren and treeless plain of the mind where
only small thoughts dwell. Like Pueblo-man, some
Arizona shtetl, white people now grasp at their
straws  -  if it isn't match.com it's tracing some
family-line through the queens or the dupes
of yore. Then come home, please, to brag.
-
In the last-standing supermarket, I showered in
the produce section, I jogged my ass through
the cereal aisle and sat down in the deli. Once
there, the blind man brought me tea and the
community nurse insisted on talking my
pulse. I demanded trees of the stockboy
passing, but he said they carried 
them no longer.

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