Im encouraged that someone I sent this piece to last year responded to it today: Two, or Three, Channels Listening for the mathematics of stability While someone out on the street is trying to hear The radio telling him how to live Between the silence of the typewriter and The sirens headed home after a long day Of disturbing the peace, While enormous amounts of Materials are being discovered In White Plains New York. And the Great Plateau south of the Canadian border I give thanks to an interminable list of names I cannot get into my head, While I am still trying to figure out Why two plus two is always Something else. Like when the air conditioner Won’t turn off and the war keeps ending But the boys and girls keep dying And the streets are filled with the Smell of truth on their clothing? Whose clothing? The people who live here Beneath the sound tracks and the singers dying in their 40s Before they even got a chance To look back on their lives, Like a comic book with all the advertisements Torn out of the back pages. While Coltrane plays Compassion Behind the sound of the newscaster casting spells On our eternal eyes dreaming of El LeRoi Jones Morphing into: history is what we tell ourselves, But who is listening When we ask her: were you listening?
Posted on: Fri, 14 Mar 2014 06:52:10 +0000
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