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Smog
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I Walk Naked Into a Cloud
Scrawling words on paper I feel nothing
can bother me. Winter lingers on and the
frozen streets signify the open bustling
of the city.Acts of charity are words spoken
by people who profess concern. This caring
is best understood in terms of cheques
written. Money replaces the soul. What I
give means what I believe. Money passing
hands is a sign of commitment to the poor
souls wandering our streets. The cars rush
along filled with solitary individuals who cruse
the other solitary individuals in other cars. Horns
beeping, people sleeping in their minds as they
drink their coffee and smoke their cigarettes. It
is illegal to smoke in public. We buy them and hide
them pretending we are quitting. Scandals emerge
all around us but we can't be bother. Very busy
writing cheques to organization whose names
we forget. Petals of leaves that we have gathered
and kept pressed in books. I bought a Bible
and kept it brand new in a closet, proud of its
crisp pages and fine cover. Won't read it because
it is for show and not belief. Novels have more
impact but not as much as movies. Protest the
violence of Christ but accept the violence of
war. It is wrong to show a penis on television
but not wrong to show a man blown to pieces.
That is art or at least a start to something with
significance. Lying on a couch eating chips and
feeling exposed. Cover my sins with a bottle
of beer. The great myth of security that is
sustained by the greater myth of reality. What
is real is the loneliness of everybody else. This
is the way we have been trained to love. Increase
the rates of passion but decrease the fog of
illusions. I am amazed that we are able to even
talk at all. Friday arrives, the end of the week, and
I am ready for the weekend. Nothing will get
through to me. I have things to do, places to be,
and people to ignore. Happy life in the smog!
As I enter your realm of
As I enter your realm of expression, I always prepare to be awed! And as usual you have accomplished your intriguing unmatched capture. I find myself re-reading each several times; Seems I touch deeper depths with each read... Great poem Chris
Vive le Quebec libre!