Oct 2013
Miami melts in its own heat.
It is, as Robert Frost writes,
"Riding on its own melting."
The grubby politicians
no one votes for
package the
melted, gelatinous
reality-space in
salami tubes.
(America, this is where your
“mystery meat” originates.)
And like Frost’s poetry,
this palm tree city
is a modern achievement,
gross in the undertaking.
It is a lead coffin, kept afloat
on the Atlantic Coast by
feat of the imagination alone.
It is, as Robert Frost writes,
"Riding on its own melting."
The grubby politicians
no one votes for
package the
melted, gelatinous
reality-space in
salami tubes.
(America, this is where your
“mystery meat” originates.)
And like Frost’s poetry,
this palm tree city
is a modern achievement,
gross in the undertaking.
It is a lead coffin, kept afloat
on the Atlantic Coast by
feat of the imagination alone.
The Frost allusion is to the author's essay, "The Figure a Poem Makes." Excised stanza:
This postcard ghetto is two-dimensional and
may be mailed anywhere.
It has no reality, for
only tourists seem to live here.
This postcard ghetto is two-dimensional and
may be mailed anywhere.
It has no reality, for
only tourists seem to live here.
