03-24-2024, 08:02 PM
Speaking in Tongues
We carry Maya in our pockets
as if the illusions outside our brain
were merely a green screen
where we act out what delusions we can.
My thought for the day
arrived at after mowing an acre of rescue grass SORRY
(Bromus catharticus),
an hour reading Edmund Wilson on Marx,
and a complex series of naps,
an idea simmered through an oversimplified day.
So they come,
another: Gaza=John Ford’s The Searchers.
It’s plain as day, but where are our prophets?
Drowning in Maya,
down by the railroad track.
We carry Maya in our pockets
as if the illusions outside our brain
were merely a green screen
where we act out what delusions we can.
My thought for the day
arrived at after mowing an acre of rescue grass SORRY
(Bromus catharticus),
an hour reading Edmund Wilson on Marx,
and a complex series of naps,
an idea simmered through an oversimplified day.
So they come,
another: Gaza=John Ford’s The Searchers.
It’s plain as day, but where are our prophets?
Drowning in Maya,
down by the railroad track.