What’s the connection?—
a secret kept best between plug and socket.
Prophet man gone the old electric way,
[and durn’ an election year, no less]. Epigrammatic burps, and
occasional flatulence, of intellection,
I can’t help
but admire my own kindofbouquet, it ain’t easy—
when Christ was crucified like gas…
…There’s a million and more clichés I could toss around as mud and dirt;
I’d rather speak in terms of glass, [plateglass, stainedglass etc.,
germs and love, and guns and lovely lovely ca-sh,
today’s math; burnt and sad, self—Walking [my] small town streets, sure to stray faraway of dense windows,
and passerby's in ugly masks, with karaoke mouthpieces,
Ballads of boredom on precipitate tongues, Shoo!—away
and blow apart minstrel clouds.
No taxis, [ever]
just men and women in ordinary cars, pedestrians,
in obvious shoes,sporting unconscious denim,northeastern scowls
nuanced grays that distract from the spots of ill sun [hostage winter sun;]
scowls like Northeastern sky herself.
“I’ve surely lost my perspective”
[An empty phrase, really. A neat vaguery, I submit.]
I had a perspective, I still got it;
Though not much use it does me being how singular it is,
Optics and all, no shades of reflection,
Dense windows of thought, so dense,
—it’s now a microscope! Hell, all i can make out is a loose collection of colors,
A broken box of loose wires
and some kinda bang-up dodgy liberty, those frayed connections, too.
Nothing as tidy as plug and socket,
to keep the lights on.