These children of the ancient tribes
Their cards dealt to the wheel
Ride the subway to oblivion
And tell you how to feel
Shaken by these earthquake days
Where there's nothing left to need
My unforgiving thinking ghosts
Have all but gone to seed
Reduced to the haunting hallways
In those sketches of the past
Allowed to surface daily
childhood flavours that won't last
Reduced to night sky watching
In a whole another time
Reduced to speaking Russian
On the rose-red central line
These predictions of a coming war
And tense truth-tax evasions
Piss in the halls of justice
Stall trains between the stations
They don’t question fast-track changes
To the languid laws of convention
Not in the ink mouths of the media
Nor a shortened span of attention
So down your football sedative
Take away the world’s hard edge
Pretend that you don't know me
The thin end of the wedge
11 comments:
Media scrounges up the worst in man
To print for boosted circulation
Convincing thrill seeking readership
It'll happen next at their location
Every wedge is simply a wedge until it twins up with a hammer then it becomes a mighty thing. Simple in design and effective in it's use.
Your thinking is the wedge and your words the hammer split away PI.
Dunno what's gonna get me first..that bloomin' wedge or the second Cold War!
So many questions unasked... How thin can a wedge be? -J
Yodood: as long as it doesn'y happen on my location :)
Walking Man: That is definitely the most poetic compliment - Thank you!
Subby: Nothing cold about it ;)
Jayne: How thin does it need to be? :D
i like the style of this. i know this style, but i think it's the first time i find it in your poetry.
My unforgiving thinking ghosts/
Have all but gone to seed
wow, just great. xooxox
Laura: I'm glad to have produced a recognisable style ;D
sorry; i know my comments suck these days, not much concentration. just feel pretty sick. i'll be back. xoxooxxo
Laura: nothing wrong with your comments :D
I loved the rhythm and the bite... nicely done.
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