In the Temple of the Echo
in the moment of the mind
in the error of the airwaves
in the arrows of the kind
lies a hurting healing
taking pleasure from the tried
to forgotten shadows
on the ladders of the blind
Oh take me to your leader
to the maker of this slime
and at their feet I’ll wallow
worshiping the awful
waste their shallow taste
brings life’s kine
Sheep sadly settled
graze government gray
cheap and badly saddled
approved payments pay
in first born chattel
less than cattle
while TV mentals
televise mime
breaking elemental
rights of mine
mind to mind
Hey in there . . .
anybody home?
--Steven B. Smith
No comments:
Post a Comment