It was
put a bow on it pretty,
our democracy
with its polka-dot accountability
and its tissue-paper truths.
The discount-bin card arrived
separately, postage due,
and with a punctilious script
it promised us
a curlicued freedom from
antiquated forms of expression.
Our very love was
ceremoniously given,
but was it
ever right-
fully ours?
Let’s render up the flattering
notion of own,
as it's grown so fatty
lipped it wears a perpetual pout.
The gift was merely Caesar’s
grandiloquent concession
tagged liberally,
“To: Us,
a meekly over-entertained many
whose we, drained of meaning,
poses no coherent threat.”
Not yet.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 5:45 AM UTC
It was
put a bow on it pretty,
our democracy
with its polka-dot accountability
and its tissue-paper truths.
The discount-bin card arrived
separately, postage due,
and with a punctilious script
it promised us
a curlicued freedom from
antiquated forms of expression.
Our very love was
ceremoniously given,
but was it
ever right-
fully ours?
Let’s render up the flattering
notion of own,
as it's grown so fatty
lipped it wears a perpetual pout.
The gift was merely Caesar’s
grandiloquent concession
tagged liberally,
“To: Us,
a meekly over-entertained many
whose we, drained of meaning,
poses no coherent threat.”
Not yet.
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