This is just poetry. It won't save you, but it may locate you so that a rescue party can be sent out. — Dean Blehert

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Four Brief Meditations

If cockroaches could talk,
we wouldn't listen.

There are heroes among us--
a perfect hiding place.

It's an old movie trick:
First (with close-ups of anguished eyes)
they get you inside a head.

Then the camera backs away
to place the tiny body
in a vast reach of red sunset,

but the whole thing is still inside
that head, which is, of course,
inside yours, which is inside

wherever you are or maybe are not,
all of it, maybe, inside (now)
that little imaginary TV head.

Saturday morning, men mow with motors
sunny suburban lawns, no children
on the street. How easily fooled!
Just because, when we get to suburbia,
we are each given a power mower
and a jogging outfit instead of harp
and halo, we don't know we're dead.

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