shouts a man into the night
angry as a trash can
filled by firelight
Stalin is his comrade
rhetoric his kite
lofty in the heavens
pandering and bright
I am no musician
crones a beatnik from the stage
empty like a row boat
leaky with old age
wisdom is his mentor
Solomon his sage
poisoning the future
from his current cage
I am no musician
pines a hero of the past
pretty as a widow
from a lowly caste
Gandhi is her savior
loneliness her fast
tying up her mourning
to a slave ship's mast
2 comments:
I don't know why, but I really like this. Your last few poems have been deep. It's taken more than a casual read to soak them in.
Matt
man...this is good.
tight.
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