Sunday, November 9, 2008

Brutal Dreams

Must speak of dreams

For is not a factory
Too brutal to dream

Is not being poor
A crime too dreadful ...

To comment
To commit.

Nowadays raw men and women
Are tools of imagination.

He sat and he stared
Looked at his burns.
For he is a poor man.

He looked at his hands
They were ragged and torn

No more boom and bust
Now only relentless growth.

He looked at his hands
They were spotted and tanned

Families, neighbourhoods,
Cities and towns,

All stand to profit.

He sat at the table
Green drab lunchroom
And looked at his hands.

Let all come forth and bloom.
His favoured animal.

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