DE-BUNK THE AIR
OF ALL IT CLAIMS
(nice day for white wedding...day?)
Such purity barrels gloom along its
sordid way. I can't laugh, but I can
smile. Awakened at dawn, that
noisome scud of metal scraping
something called a roadway half
ways distant carries my hearing with
it. Around here you can hear such
things a short mile off. I scratch
the lantern which is my head, and
wonder : Is it another language I
do not yet understand? Or just one
spoken badly by a creature of this
land? Why scrape and bother all
this fine new white? Nay but
should one not just let it be?
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