Today's poem is by Brenda Hillman
Radical Lads, Blisters & Glad Summers
Light the lamps for a government
of impostors; their background check
will not work out.
The candidates start their idiotic speeches.
Their speeches sound like: boing.
They sound like boing boing. They go boing-boing,
boing-boing-boing. Out on the coast, a
yellow splits in two till only the visible
remains: near the dairy, such a calm
doctrine of mustard, a defensible
pageantry...underground, a host of black
syllables, rushing to the tribes;
Walter Benjamin nods on the train;
he makes it out of Portbou...O Europe, your
childhood was a rupture: boys thrashing
through thickets, blisters on their knees,
thinking they would be safe in revolution
with an art too difficult
to be installed...& didn't they care?
They still care.
Prince of Thursdays, the A
gives its legs to Autumn, your O
to the osprey. You never
doubted poetry anxiously
taking vermillion tones past
Copyright © 2014 Brenda Hillman All rights reserved
from The Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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