Saturday, 21 June 2014

1 New Poem

The Myth of the Bureaucrat

The flaky breeze of cotton and haydust
tumbling waves like myth-maiden locks in the
granary sink below tides of academic jargon,
the best sharpened scythes of our modern age.

Far-flung from these white shadows of people
in name and flutter coat, trailing to empty
early evening parking lots, running
cost estimates for window shades in padded cells.

I was waiting, shoe-shined, in a melancholy
hour's clock striking, getting ready for
when everything would be wonderful;
I found

it's even a long time waiting to get to heaven.

No comments:

Post a Comment