What does it mean when
An old man’s walls begin
To leak what they’ve seen and they
Swear it’s true,
Claim that’s America,
The unlit cigarette and peeling wallpaper
Coming and going but staying, regardless?
And what does it mean when the same man
Watched the planes trail through the sky,
Over the mosaics of cities and veins of freeways,
Wonders aloud how much of a strain it would be
For him to out-rationalize himself,
And take to the air that way?
The comings and goings of these steel birds
Reflected by oceans struck waveless in contempt
For the human animal,
In anger that they’d crack these boundaries.
What they call people, I can’t be sure of.
No comments:
Post a Comment