LIKE CLIMATE CONTROL
Always some fool-ass cutting wood,
lumbering trees and despoiling the
face of what goes as place. Hungry
for Montefiore, they race with their
guns and hammers and chainsaws
a'blazing. I can't say anything back,
not knowing the language of such
cleft lips. We parade in their shadows
nonetheless - noise and harm gone
out of safe harbor.
-
When the mothers are at the stove,
the cats and dogs at least are safe.
Signs left about from last year's
politics now look like tampered,
wet diapers from a baby's sack-race.
All is quiet in the western front?
-
My autograph book is covered in
blood; red-ink abounds all the
wounds now found : the passing
acquaintance with those whom
I've known. A name here or there
of renown; now just a frown, and
even the graveyards are filled
with better than this.
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