Buk says, dropping his pants for the crowd.
The crowd roars. Some sit with an embarrassed look
on their faces. Some
are poker-faced, showing no hands. Some look
like the already dead, turning away.
"You can't hide yourself in poems, you can't
buy yourself a hot-assed seat in the Promised Land.
You've got to see the elephant for what it is.
You've got to....."
He trails off just as two men approach from either side
of the podium (after all, he's the one who set the stage!)
The thought police were figments of his imagination, and I've forgotten
how to end this poem but I think it had something to do with how the dead
can talk through us.
~A
thanks for your sharing your Buk poem rr...he's never further than a thought away.
