There's no ocean there. Am I right? No tide, no moon-surging sea Of people in the street. Late at night, the waves Of panic ripple; provincial Alleys shrink your sight. Go to the window! Jump from the ledge! No, don’t. You have more suffering to bear Before eternity greets your grizzled fear. Listen! Can't you descry The endless lies, The double-speak, the tongue flames Scorching buildings, taking names, Uttered, stopped, and uttered again? It wasn't long ago That a Victorian poet Rounding the English Channel thought That in the ebb and flow Human misery echoed; you ought To hear it in the sound of fear’s publicity, The repetition of ruling perfidy. The sea of faith Receded also from your doors, Falling like the underpants of whores. But touching I can almost taste A long, continuous whine Muted in your breath, In silent prayers, even in the death Of reason in your kind. You thought that you were sane: Cow flatulence threatens your domain. Confused by alarms, called to task, You don a sweltering mask. With algorithmic chattering day and night, You have no joy or love or light.
Discussion about this post
No posts