Beyond
the absurdity of ego, there is this:
Skyscrapers fill my day, slaughter general
-------emptiness
with a breathless hush,
-------advance like great
books becoming
-------watered down on the other
side of my
-------mind.
The
speed bump yogi lectures in sleight-
------of-mouth
high volume doublespeak
------sweeping cloverleaf
turnoff souls of
------mile-high risk/love whenever
the
------truth needs telling.
Before taking
each stance or each step or
------each last gasp
or idling atstoplights,
------I
stroll on iron beams above a city of
------faces
listening fortheir prayers,
------reclaiming my
unwritten fantasies.
Deathless ledges of concrete restaurants
-------fall
into my acrobatic shrill high-
-------velocity
chatter, where beauty
-------performs
for maybe 16 seconds of
-------mistaken
gravity generated by things
-------that
might not be.
Progress is a concerto in a kitchen where
-------there
is no lawn between the trees,
-------but
one billion lightbulbs living
-------amongst
thickets and indians sink
-------into
history like the freeway vanishes
-------into
the night beyond the lights.
I have no audience here in Chicago where
------the
els rattle the windows of the
------poor,
no audience in Manhattan
------where
the Hudson loses its war
------against concrete,
no audience in San
------Francisco,
no audience in London, no
------audience
in Paris, and so on and so
------on
and so on.
(c)
2006 Charlie Newman
Read
more H O W L Revisited at
www.locuspoint.com
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