It’s bewildering how all the
Little kids are dressed in green.
They’re wearing foreign flags and
Scrambling about in some kind of
Scatterbug formation.
It makes me think of the years I spent in ‘Nam.
– And coincidentally a delicious restaurant
Round the corner from here.
Chopsticks between eyes and arrows
And fabrics that tell me not to bring these new habits home.
I’m watching them with curiosity, the kids,
As they make their way about the grounds
Busier than all the ants of the world.
Hands flailing in some random forms of symmetry
That builds to an ecstatic culminations of sorts.
And then I get busy and pants with arrows pointing South
Cross my paths leaving home-job manicured
French poodles pissing about,
Confusing the tiny combat warriors.
Tag: flags
Green and Busy (day 1218)
Little kids are all dressed in green.
They’re wearing foreign flags and
Scrambling about in some kind of
Scatterbug formation.
It makes me think of the years I spent in ‘Nam
– And incidentally a delicious restaurant
Round the corner from here.
Chopsticks between eyes and arrows
And fabrics that tell me not to bring these new habits home.
I’m watching them with curiosity
As they make their way about the grounds
Busier than all the ants of the world.
Hands flailing in some random forms of symmetry
That builds to eruptic culminations.
And then I get busy and pants with arrows pointing South
Cross my paths leaving home-job manicured
French poodles pissing about,
Confusing the tiny combat warriors.
Soloist (day 347)
Soloists have a hard time understanding the meaning of the unity
The connection with others that amplifies the experience
Perhaps it’s also an ego thing: uninterupted, in command
Or maybe it was a result of a childhood
No parents to love by, no siblings to care for
But soloists also understand a much deeper commitment to the cause
A rooted desire to conquer the tasks and ignore/conuquer all obstacles
That run headlong into the path of resistance
Perhaps it’s nothing of the sort, just mere coincidence that
Strong minded individuals had no support structure
For their childhood fantasies and nightmares
In the end, it is neither the soloist nor the socialist
Who stands up tall at the end of the match
It is neither the mother nor the father who take on the blame
Or the brother or the sister who have left you out of the game
It is the soloist who must take on the blame
Who must reach deep inside and answer only to themselves
Questions on my mind
Make the game worth
The questions on my mind
And the questions on my mind
Prove the answer to the riddle
Of questions on my mind
Relate to the soloist who has gone ahead and led the way
That there was a mixup in the game plan, that the troupes have all turned
Away from the diamonds, away from the booty,
More towards the inspiration, rallied against the ugly mascot
They have turned down the flags, and silenced the horns
Ignited the fires and paraded far away