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it started with a burning car and
continued through the random clicks
and aches of our building. we turn
as an i and sort through old images
for sounds that still play, that still
dive around a core that we know,
we know that much is lost
of the stories we could speak together,
so we must admit we are on
different tracks with heroes and villains
just a small number of us share.
we recognize the cutting and the floor,
the types moving in profile, and we
talk and talk to keep speaking so
that we can.
Out somewhere are
waters we remember with
clear hope that they remember us though
they do not. Memory is what makes
us a culture, so we are becoming a
pile, not a people. Dante warned us about
the factions, yet we have forgotten him,
have labeled such works as unproductive
for our future citizens--moloch is here,
and we are in him with eyes down to
screens that burn us out.
copyright 2019
William
Allegrezza |
