Fears: The Red Terror, the Blue Terror, the Green Terror
Annoyances: The Red Terror, eating corn on the cob unevenly, dirt
Accomplishments: The maintenance of American democracy, freedom, and equality
Confusions: Confucius
Sorrows: The death of farming, the decline of the earth
Dreams: The life of farming, the rise of the earth
Idiosyncrasies: Classified
Risks: Life, death
Beloved Possessions, Now and Then: My sanity
Problems: The death of farming, the decline of the earth
Zookeeping can be a Dangerous Profession
A poem by Sam Clark
The Second Red Terror gripped Bolikchan, driving life, and with it, death.
As long as he stood, the Terror would fall.
Confucius.
Leaning against the wall of the hotel, unevenly eating his corn on the cob,
(always leaving kernels)
Confucius.
The dirt underneath his fingernails rife with bacteria,
Confucius.
A smile playing upon his lips as he welcomes you into the Astor Hotel,
Confucius.
This man,
Bastion of strength,
Pinnacle of human emotion,
Free fell into the fickle fingers of fate, freed from freedom itself.
Such was Confucius as we knew him.
Such was Confucius as we loved him.
Nobody knew who bestowed the name.
Parents dead after his birth, trampled by trumpeting fame.
(Zookeeping, you know, can be a dangerous profession)
The issue wasn’t pressed
The issue wasn’t pressed
Like an unopened book
We judged it (the name) by its cover
We judged it (the name) by its cover
The triteness of the metaphor tired by its trueness
Flown away on wings of fantasy
Zookeeping, you know, can be a dangerous profession.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.