Saturday, October 8, 2011

Images from Civilization's Saturday Afternoon Serial


Poe drowns in his own vomit on the streets of Baltimore.
Homer dreamt he was the only suitor fucking Penelope.

Look backward to see where it will end; find the long view.
There are words need no tongues. What’s a mouth for?

The character of civilization resides in one mother’s tears:
If her son can’t find work, he can kill for a thousand pesos . . .


He wrote well, his life tattered, abandoned from the start.
She had faced down the suitors, why not the blind poet?

Who was the kid with his contract, a way to make a living,
becoming the living dead because you do . . .

I was not there. Manuela Roma was. Reynolds, certainly:
“I was in Lecumberri. ‘I was the man, I suffered, I was there.’”


Thirty-three years. No second crucifixion necessary.
A story needs a witness to prove it’s true . . . then continues.

(8 October 2011)

copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander

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