Old Man Scrubbing Graffiti from the Library Wall
Enraptured progenitor of consensus
What mushrooms ring your tree?
What faded flowers do you wear in your hair?
What possibly can be learned from poetry
That isn’t already written in the lines on your face?
Sacrifice the firmament in the name of revenue
Lower the skies until all panoramas collide
Drink from the river until it runs dry
And then retreat to a mountain top citadel
Where pious folk seek desolation
Where men of granite tremble before thunder
And their women weed gardens without crops
As Splendor is superior to Veracity
As latitudes will continue to meander
As there’s no arrogance that can prevent erosion
All you need to know is in your own mind
And all you need to subsist is at your fingertips
Old age can wait until it’s too late
Keep silent about tomorrow’s incandescence
Keep silent about the power of music
Gray hair on your head
Has more color than can be imagined
Without the light of day