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| Ralph Eugene Meatyard 'Untitled' (ca. 1960–1962), gelatin silver print The Estate of Ralph Eugene Meatyard © |
n-nimby-ism, damn it all
not Nephilim in my backyard
has become a universal
whisper mantra
anti-crime lights
dinner time
to morning, sing
this tune too...
our cities
traversed with rails
and poled wires
eat the forest
with stone streets
and wooden houses
in the dark...
crypts have become
the human zoos
lifetimes now wombs
where every entry has
a sentry doorman
who says halt,
who goes there
what is there
besides you
and the meadow's lark
starling row marrow-ing
the short nights
of summer leaning in
have any of you
yet, reason to live
past a need for eyes
surrendering memory
entirely to scent
what has your soul lent
to a bettering cause or purpose
I am sure there are many here
who, like I and perhaps you
choose sight's imaginary tales
and tactile perceptions
before something that smells right...
perhaps heaven
was never meant
to be such a far away place
after all, though I'd still
tithe, tie and tide myself
nearest the exits
I could...
with my dolls
and my masks
just in case
this belief
in a higher power
fails me again...
EJR ©
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