London Bridge is flooded, melting.
The towers are struck and fallen down.
We well might look at this tragic mess and say,
“I’m not cleaning that up!”
But maybe it’s not a mess to be cleansed,
but a game to indulge in.
Luxuriate in dazzling suds, intrigued.
Work out scenes to turn chaos into valuable memes.
Are we having fun yet?
Because if we’re not, we’re probably missing the point.
Sense encoded missive strikes womb of Mother Earth.
She will divine the appropriate response.
Perhaps subliminal notes are written upon rocks or stars,
secret lights along a shining trail;
or it might come as spontaneous lyrics singing.
Myth claims a method of mindplay.
Thoughts metamorph into birdlike beings,
unfurl vestigial wings.
from eternal time. Messages pop like soap bubbles,
fly swiftly beyond imagined borders
to wonders of continents, oceans, possibilities
more than noise
ideations of silly hilarity
“you go” encouragement
“they suck” consolation
so, yeah, unplug, because you can’t abide a little snark…
Dismissed as crazy, what do you expect me to say?
No matter how we explain, they hear
the chatter churning between their ears.
Children in character play,
simulate their own boos and cheers.
Why interfere? Change or replacing the game
may cost too dear, be inconvenient
in this midst of disarray.
Indulged in fear,
passionate ire turned outward,
triggered to blame, to ignite contagious fire.
Set back a’piece where brambles
disguise our winding road, discourage inciters
with inbred eyes.
sad, shadow memory.
Hard harsh faces
leer, jeer, beg for tears.
I dare not cry. I never know what to answer.
Held by my arms fiercely protective.
Stale weeping, caustic, bred of poison, drips through.