Capitulation (Quippet No. 4)

[Nowhere in particular, end of day yet again]

In the face of the impossible:

Religious militance, misinformation overload mislabeled, conspiracy of wealth …

And a generation of children left behind (ca. 2001)

I am, frankly, tired and lost

Seemless Transit

I know I’ve been lazy this month so here’s another poem-story–subject to updates (since I’ve edited it about 100 times just prior to releasing it). It’s about people I’ve seen on the subway in Boston and New York.

Lento. The red line train came on time for all of my friends. They all ran out of sight in a flash. I want to remember them all. To the right, some big smart legacies going to change the world. To the left, a beautiful lonely mother of two, waiting to escape. Outside, a musician from the ancient orient here to visit. Across from me, she was plain and I didn’t know her name. I didn’t hear her voice. I don’t think she moved much. Not on the outside. Her eyes sagged listlessly and tried to ignore me. But I knew she wasn’t going anywhere. If I could I would ask her:

The sparkle of this city has dazzled you

Hasn’t it?

 

The Tired Song

A sing-songy poem I wrote almost two years ago, but equally applicable to today and tomorrow

Though time is still young in my view,

I feel as though I’m eighty-two

Weary I am to understand

Confused I am by the failings of man

People demand glory and nothing less

But I need desperately to find rest

 

Day After Day

An old poem about shyness

Laying down

Wasting the day

Self-induced alienation

Towards her un-bold

 

The Hyperbole of Sleep

The art of waking up

The glazed longing of self-destruction

Crusts over my eyes

And still-beating heart