Old City New
Upon the maundering corpus of Old CitySniveling jackals snarl, flocks of drunken crows caw and whirl about
Buzzing flies feast like hideous royal beasts on banquets of digital lies,
The costume show resumes in state the speakers designate
What is what and who is who
With pickpocket minds taking all that it finds to waste with the winds,
Chock with pyramids and clocks, tackles tied to the blocks dead ahead
Stocks burn like visions of Paradise on fire and crumble into fairy dust
Boom or bust little rusty machinations rise to whose perturbations
Water waste, desert seasons to taste the simple air,
Complicated vacations return to burN the thumb dumb pages backwards stare
For ages pretend to read think of something witty
;Upon the maundering corpus of Old City . . .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 793 times
Written on 2019-07-25 at 12:33
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text