SPQR
Posted on Nov 5th, 2006
by
Nathan
(Fragmentary inscription on a virtual stone)
Roman Forum, 8:12 a.m.,
eastern sky is gold and gray over the
Colosseum, still some blue sky
in the east, the Forum mostly
gray above, gray below, but not all gray, also brown,
air bebirded, streets becarred, ruins
lightly becatted. Little chirping guys fly smoothly to a
little tree. Gray & black crows say brah! brah! brah!
Ka gives me a running commentary on the activities of two cats
that spring lithely over the stones.
We're near the place they use as a toilet, it seems.
Last night I dreamt I was working for Greenpeace again
and the FBI bugged my old house in Ann Arbor,
and in disabling the recording device I set the machine on fire.
I'm still at home, it seems.
I carry home in my head.
I'm a 7-year old digging a hole in the backyard
while imagining my life in the future.
Little did I imagine that the
crows would have gray bodies to go with their black heads,
wings and tails.
The stone dome of the church nearby is like a bullet
pointed at the heart of God.
The ghosts of the emperors
have gray bodies and black wings.
The poetry should just come
squirting out of one's pen in a place like this.
It's cold; still too early for them to unlock the gate
to let us in to walk among the ruins;
killing time,
we make friends with a cat.
Roman Forum, 8:12 a.m.,
eastern sky is gold and gray over the
Colosseum, still some blue sky
in the east, the Forum mostly
gray above, gray below, but not all gray, also brown,
air bebirded, streets becarred, ruins
lightly becatted. Little chirping guys fly smoothly to a
little tree. Gray & black crows say brah! brah! brah!
Ka gives me a running commentary on the activities of two cats
that spring lithely over the stones.
We're near the place they use as a toilet, it seems.
Last night I dreamt I was working for Greenpeace again
and the FBI bugged my old house in Ann Arbor,
and in disabling the recording device I set the machine on fire.
I'm still at home, it seems.
I carry home in my head.
I'm a 7-year old digging a hole in the backyard
while imagining my life in the future.
Little did I imagine that the
crows would have gray bodies to go with their black heads,
wings and tails.
The stone dome of the church nearby is like a bullet
pointed at the heart of God.
The ghosts of the emperors
have gray bodies and black wings.
The poetry should just come
squirting out of one's pen in a place like this.
It's cold; still too early for them to unlock the gate
to let us in to walk among the ruins;
killing time,
we make friends with a cat.

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