one word gorgons: optional
gerber baby:
the transitions are
optional,
funky cloud patterns
dissipate,
while the legos
roam westward;
we
in the bleachers
sing hallelujahs,
wrangle dreamcatchers,
can-open
remaining worm tins:
frugal Orwellians
announce
the bellwethers,
the fiscal undertows,
the carefully pruned
sanctuaries of our
optimal prose.
the transitions are
optional,
funky cloud patterns
dissipate,
while the legos
roam westward;
we
in the bleachers
sing hallelujahs,
wrangle dreamcatchers,
can-open
remaining worm tins:
frugal Orwellians
announce
the bellwethers,
the fiscal undertows,
the carefully pruned
sanctuaries of our
optimal prose.
Labels: perishable goods
posted by murat11 at 5:30 PM
5 Comments:
my sleepy brain is imagining herds of lego cattle slowing traveling the prairie under a blue sky while Richard Burton cheers them on from the bleachers. Put the lid back on that can of worms - we can stay in our sanctuaries.
This certainly has a plethora of tesseracts, Murat.
The jump from gorgons setting people in stone to things so fluid as to be totally optional is the first quantum leap of the evening.
Then we have the Gerber baby boomers, who really wish the transitions would be optional (but they aren't always, no matter how much dye you pour on your head...).
The funky-patterned clouds of marijuana smoke sent up at Woodstock and other rock festivals have dissipated, the legos of their youth have been passed on to their children and grandchildren.
The rest of society observing them from the sidelines cheers that they are finally taking responsibility and not just taking optional classes like Basketweaving 101. With children the gerber baby boomers settle down after wrangling with their dreams and opening the can of worms that is domestic life. Now they listen to the orwellian bellwethers of the financial world, worrying about the fiscal undertows taking away their financial security, and they hide their heads in the sanctuaries of optimal prose, choosing once again to believe that life is groovy instead of facing the reality that all things must perish from under the skies: youth, health, money, life...
Oh dear, Murat, why are these poems turning out so black in my exegeses??? I thought you were enjoying the Instituto. Or is it me?
Dee: I like your Lego vistas. RB in a ten gallon stetson - now there's a twist.
T: Nothing wrong with your tesseracting, but I think it can sustain a lighter touch, too. That's our job - faith, that is; the dance of yin and yang; song in the face of gloom. The gorgons, remember, are optional.
On the other hand, we're all a dance of internal dervishes: these voices, their points and counterpoints, all wanna sing, slipsliding together in the daily mayhem, the daily grace.
so true, so true! Been battling some ugly demons in my dreams of late.
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