Thursday, August 27, 2009
I just wrote a poem. I know it's a little obtuse, but I like it. It has to do with self-image.
You shout names at me through the traffic in my brain.
I keep the buses and trains and trolleys and subways running.
But soon, the rolling blackouts will come.
The energy crisis may begin.
The gasoline pumping from the hills in Bakersfield Iraq and Alaska and all those off-shore places will run out.
There will be no sound to drown out your voice.
There will be only you, me, and my thick reflection in the window of a defunct trolley.