november storms approach
newspapers tumble through alleys
promises ride on the airwaves
like suits through the rotunda
wire transfers, blowback
bold new visions
when the storm hits
black is white, up is down
image and logic scrambled
summer's brief calm swept aside
in a howling gale of punditry
squalls of liquid truth
the receipts are all stashed
the real price is never known
young martyrs hurtle out through space
beside the words which put them there
like disposable promises of the season
like stray bullets of the great spin
freedom isn't free
freedom isn't free
- Zlatko Waterman
- Posts: 1631
- Joined: August 19th, 2004, 8:30 am
- Location: Los Angeles, CA USA
- Contact:
Dear mnaz:
This is a fine lyrical response to the putrid spray of ions we are ordinarily forced to endure , not only from the mass media, but from the "Join Arnold" types who haunt my neighborhood.
Though I guess if ghosts are in the majority, perhaps I'm haunting their neighborhood.
Fine imagery and a kind of clean power in this poem, trying to raise a periscope above the fecal river's surface and glimpse the sun.
--Zlatko
This is a fine lyrical response to the putrid spray of ions we are ordinarily forced to endure , not only from the mass media, but from the "Join Arnold" types who haunt my neighborhood.
Though I guess if ghosts are in the majority, perhaps I'm haunting their neighborhood.
Fine imagery and a kind of clean power in this poem, trying to raise a periscope above the fecal river's surface and glimpse the sun.
--Zlatko
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