Monday, August 27, 2012
Sonnet Comprising Today’s Temporal Analysis
I found out my town was made from dust and corn, street people
and low flying jet aeroplanes. Sometimes an old turbo job swooped into view.
Inside the restaurants, people spoke about how bright the sun had been, whether
or not there would be enough rain to paint the streets with, like it was a holiday or
something like that. Everyone I knew drove a car that spit out smoke while loudly
proclaiming the continued ascendance of heavy metal. The pictures in the local
paper alluded to twisted mulberry branches. If you fashioned a plutonium-laden
symbol from those elemental moments, someone up in heaven would surely
smile at the heaviness that propelled the resulting storm clouds upward into what
could only be described as a fantastically elaborate void. After recording these
latest observations, I drank from the river with the solemnity of Coronado’s
thirsty horde, gamboling fiercely upon the shore, disguised as last month’s
flying insect ruler, conjuring articles of faith from yellow leaves. Sodium
lamps buzzed wantonly from electrified steel poles; it was never quiet here.