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1, 2, 3, 4
all in line,
and yesterday
was the day before
it all made sense,
that everything was
just a little more
senseless.
Vonnegut would understand
the didactic cries heard
from the priest uttered before
he hit the floor
after being impaled with
absolute truth;
as he remained --
half alive,
long enough to watch
the evil half live
a little longer than
the rest of his warm-
blooded system;
a system,
stemming from a big bang
to one-celled
organisms;
then hair,
ah! wonderful hair
growing everywhere upon
the backs of one-armed
grooming apes;
and finally,
free-thinking beings
that like to be
nothings,
like to be free enough
to consider
thinking freely
and pass up
on the opportunity;
only to conform to
the windblown blades
of grass
leaning to the left,
and sometimes to the right;
what a system,
black or white
that sees no exception,
no gray,
there is simply
no foreseeable day
that we shall hold a
champion cup
up
before this vivacious
species to drink from;
rather,
we shall drink
from our drooling
bottom lips
that seem to collect
all that is easy,
all that is 9 to 5, force fed,
with no dreams
before bed,
like when mother used to
save us
from the dark;
and little did we know --
we were the dark
that we feared.
There was never any
danger in non-
illuminated space,
only non-illuminated
hearts and minds
to be passed on to
the reproducing
underdeveloped minds
of a non-utopian
society
that lives handicapped
from day to day.
Just one more day,
just one more day
to live,
to possibly love,
to run among the fields
that have watched
us age,
to soar before
the bluebirds
that have fed
from our hands,
and all the while,
little did we know,
that it was their song
that held the answer
to the question,
that we all ponder
and attempt to
explore.
I want more!
More!
from the simple-minded
self-mutilating
Mr. Phinneaus Gage’s
of today.
Maybe in the end someone
will realize that
responsibility alone
can pierce the flesh, break the bones
and damage the
fragile tissues
that work so hard to
run the most complex
multi-celled
system,
that works to control the
eco system,
solar system,
and religious hymn.
I am distracted by
that menacing bird
again,
as he sings that
same damn song.
Chirp, chirp,
Chirp, chirp,
I know, I know
too little, too late
for this galactic fate.
They all face west and sit
listening to the messiah of
the past, present, and future day;
the message has always been
loud and clear,
and easily heard
through the simple
repetitive tune
of a gay bird,
sitting proudly
on a wire
waiting for the
final shock
of electricity
to put it out of its
misery.
Phzzzzzt!
and I, too,
wait.
-jonathon shank
|
The Camp Counselor
