Saturday, August 27, 2005

Stew

This is a rat-trap of a world. What's this?
A circus ticket – garbage in the street –
One castanet – the people that I meet,
Clicking their fuzzy tongues – Give us a kiss,
That's a good boy! This is a dark abyss,
A carnival of bathos – O my sweet! –
Great stews of anguish – fields of golden wheat –
And if I left, there's nothing I would miss.

You don't suppose that's all it's ever been,
Do you? I wonder if this brilliant horn
Of plenty could be worth such thorough scorn.
You don't suppose that all I've ever seen
In these dark days and months since I was born
Is just a joke, do you? It's dim, and mean.

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