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 **** 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.