Clothes-Minded

This is meant to be a political poem...but not entirely sympathetic to the activists.

Gold-lined coat on alabaster shrine, center of new order, not orderly, but given to shame;

aching eyes know too much, think too much, twitch too much

...focus...focus on or off the gift of shame, of blame,

find the center, the absolute pole, across miles of ice penance.

But back on the shrine, I heard the cry of lambs losing their wool,

saw desert travelers oasis-bound, no skin showing,

then plunged across to Italy where the leopard lives alone and feels its spots.

Fastforward and/or flip the lid and speak to him of dirt and garbage mountains

on the plains of Abraham where God spoke through thunder

before clamming up, old man too white and angry.

Show me your wallet by the clothes you wear,

bring noise! be a fugitive! anti-anti!

you are your coat, your fur-lined coat.

Now leave it at the shrine and forget to live,

the plastic globe.

Author's Note

Don't be too hard on me if you can't find the sense in these nonsense poems...they're almost stream of consciousness.