Thursday, April 17, 2008

Paradelle for a Proud Argentina

“Argentines have watched, horrified, as the meltdown dissolved more than their pocketbooks. Even the rich have been affected in their own way. The tragedy has struck hardest, however, among the middle class, the urban poor and the dirt farmers. Their parts of this once-proud society appear to have collapsed -- a cave-in so complete as to leave Argentines inhabiting a barely recognizable landscape.”
Washington Post, August 6, 2002

Morning climbs up the sleek skin of skyscrapers.
Morning climbs up the sleek skin of skyscrapers.
Our broken bourgeois dines on cracked china.
Our broken bourgeois dines on cracked china.
Sleek china dines on the cracked bourgeois.
Broken of skyscrapers, morning climbs up our skin

Proud Argentina sleeps with a growling belly.
Proud Argentina sleeps with a growling belly.
There is food on the freeway and it’s still alive.
There is food on the freeway and it’s still alive.
It’s a proud freeway still growling with food.
Argentina is there alive and the belly sleeps on.

My tiny planet simmers with a fever of billions.
My tiny planet simmers with a fever of billions.
How can the good fortune fatten so few?
How can the good fortune fatten so few?
How the tiny fever of fortune simmers, so
My good planet can fatten with a few billions.

A bourgeois planet dines on morning. How good
is the growling of food alive. Fortune sleeps
there on a tiny few and our skin simmers
with the cracked fever of broken skyscrapers.
Still China climbs with my sleek Argentina.
Its proud billions belly up so the freeway can fatten.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Daphne's Warning

Don’t bury your wilderness!
Honor that rakish salvation from
soap and Jane Austin; it’s neither

silk purse nor sow's ear.
Don’t bother with the chase,
down stone steps

all the way to Mongolia;
forget tunneling with worm holes
into a ninth dimension.

Instead, remember how slyly
your own reflection fills
with cobwebs like puddles

in August if you neglect
the beveled lips of crystal
between you and this feral kin.

Bend your light as obliquely as
a sky is full of quasars, giggle
madly as a herd of girls

in skirts scarlet and billowing.
Don't bother with the chase,
your savanna patiently waits.

Find the nerve instead
to trace the iron laced fissure,
defining your own fault line.

Find the nerve to huddle
like Persephone beside Hades;
embrace your Jerusalem.

It shelters an Irish salmon,
you'll roast on hot coals. Feed
its best morsels to your yeti;
and don’t bury it again!