I know this feeling,
of feeling marvelously
good. It's very, very
Virginia fratboy. You
can still check out
Ceaucescu's slaughter,
and probably George Bush
will let you heft
Saddam Hussein's handgun,
for a donation to his
museum.
Now we have a Libyan to feed
to naïve idiots, who think
the acts of their suffering
will deliver them from it.
How stark, the sight of
endless White Houses,
ever since Hiroshima,
applauding the charity,
the progressiveness of murder.
You know?
Life didn't come to life
to be a part of this. So,
what are we supposed to do:
pretend another President
is not a chorister for blood
on his watch? Show Givenchy
at his best, sunsets
in their bloom, French
lit at another turning
point of genius?
Or listen to some delegate
of our responses, steeped
in the flux of the Manichaean
Heresy: better him than me.
What then is the difference?
Are we here for nothing?
thanks for this... such horror
ReplyDeleteyou and I feel we have to say some things, sometimes; but you have such a stalwart heart, Tom; we know this; thank you for staying close.
ReplyDeleteyes, difficult to watch and to understand.
ReplyDeleteFor such commentary as this I keep coming back to your blog. (This, and your artful blending of the male figure with literature.) To my mind, you are at your best when you obfuscate least, when you embrace the clarity of poetry, as in this stark row of endless White Houses. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteKind of you to advise and compliment so constructively. In truth I dislike what a posting of this character does to my spirits and my preferences, and to this blog as a resource for exchange and reflection, so if there is some redeeming element in its style I'm always grateful to believe it. But it's a blog and a person still under development.
ReplyDelete