Tuesday, April 9, 2013

The Thought of Mexico

"Why, why, why" --
Don't you know that every answer
                                    leads to me?
There are no rules for how life is
                                    supposed to be?
All engines lock at times,
Complaints are barely read
                                    except as loud
                                    and foreign
                                    favors to you.
Do you really want entitlement
                                    for miracles?
Does that not defeat the point
                                    that there is something more
                                    behind this raggy, threadbare,
                                    see-through screen?

Something always holds you to the light
When all the engines rust in fallow fields,
When all the voices grate like friends
                                   who disappointed
                                   years ago,
When information swirls
                                   back to the source
                                   in wakes of chaos.

It's when you think things aren't
                                   as they should be
You must remember me
                                   I'm only what is
                                   always, always

1 comment:

Jack said...

Hugely insightful description of how complaints are perceived. I laughed at how apt it is, really.

The part about voices grating like disappointing friends perfectly captured a phenomenon of life.

This is one of my favorites on Poet Tree.