banning the bums was a novel idea,
at the time. bombs were going off
with monotonous regularity, portraits
were being painted, in luscious hues,
in loving memory of dearly departed saviours,
off to fight new wars on the shores of tripoli
and other, lovelier places. cataracts had formed
around our collective viewpoint, so the images
seemed prettier then, more alluring, dreamlike
in their innocence. our own innocence was lost
long ago. it just took us a while to realise.
and then we cried our blurry eyes out,
but to no avail. our own war was over,
we had not won, the battlefield reeked
of calumny, and pious arbiters of secular taste
chanted impotent prayers in a language
not heard since prophets roamed the earth
in search of impressionable fodder.
minos – may 2009
kinks would have made it safely out of there if the seventeen elephants he'd stuffed inside his attach-ee case hadn't gone all jazzy in a miles kind of way and started trumpeting last night's impressive achievements on a contrapuntal voyage of self-discovery
