Graduation day has
come and gone, a
greasy blur preempted by
long lines of ambivalence,
meatless tacos of
intellectual ammunition
artificially bolstered headstrong by
winter’s unexpected demise, the
season’s revision out of
public policy by means of
freshly-sharpened swords,
enormous blades slashed forth and back by
keepers of a
mostly mythical iris-thin firmament
few contemplated for its
forceful reminder that
traffic and weather produce
more calm than
critics and creators realize.
Stable, formulaic songs inhabit
jellyfish dreams this year,
dreams taking place in
complex Gehry structures
once used as residences then
converted to
1970s communal living spaces and
alcoholic beverage establishments.
Riots and pettiness rage gracefully,
unfunny jokes slipping into
intruded sleep rewarded with
riotous laughter that
fools fools into
perpetual chasing after
self-certified jargon,
skipping clumps of
unrecorded observation over
grumbling waters of
turgid lakes whose
eyes hasten to
blink at
commercialized love.
Back on holiday patrol I
spot an unobserved celebration of
cable television and
remote control devices that use
unusual rotary dial interfaces to
change channels and
purchase products from
24-hour shopping channels.
Though slower than traditional means
rotaries nevertheless cause thousands of
faithful but lucrative religious conversions
ranging from subtleties of
withholding selected confessions from female priests to
massacring thousands of anesthetized infants with
mother’s stolen assault rifles.
