Yeah why not. Let's go somewhere in a dark
automobile at the speed of dreaming, purpose
or no purpose. Sometimes, like now, I get
tired of pondering the sustainability
of survival as a kind of heroism. How long
did you say it took the Praetorian guards
to deliver the heads of their tyrant masters?
There are sons described as having faces
only their mothers could love, yet their mothers
(and even sisters) come forward to testify about
the cruelty of these men. Can you imagine how
that kind of rejection must drive them crazy,
behind their mask of stony indifference? The world
is no more theirs than anyone else's. Their kind
of darkness, small and mean and selfish, is not even
anything compared to that more elemental darkness which,
it is said, precedes the time before the subjugated world
tears off its blinders, so the pendulum can arc to another end.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
