intellectual minefield of suburban misanthropy
|Diogenes by Jean-Leon Gerome (1860)|
unhand the children of our age:
monkeys throwing darts from the boardroom
bastard thoughts manufactured with expiration
dates lack the instinct to spark a single candle
the world turns to flashlights powered by untruth
as percentages and mechanical appetites devour
what is left of Keats, Mozart, Chagal, ducks
in a row where feathers no longer outweigh the heart
overtime production of hope while the living
zombies spread wrinkle cream on market reports
consumption used to be a disease, the invisible
enemies, now the cure, the obese bubble we’re afraid
to burst – supernova when the light at noon illuminates
the boardrooms to the schoolrooms to the dark corners
where the human spirit crouches, waiting to spring,
waving a flashlight at rush hour traffic
Poet's Notes: Diogenes wails over his millet every night, as the darkness closes in a little further. In the next room over, I roll out of bed, turn on my phone and use the most useful app I have downloaded: the super bright flashlight. Maybe one of the cats needs escorting to their food dish. Maybe the puppy is thirsty. Maybe Diogenes will end his quest tonight.
I sit down to some grainy gluten free toast, preparations for another day, less an accumulated hour of sleep spent assisting various needy four legged creatures. I load my lunch, papers, computer, and various books into the car, strap the birdcage in the passenger seat.
Just another Monday.