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| A DAY WITH A JET Large airliners pass so close to me Like scarred whales pressed to aquarium glass. Raked wings are oranged by the setting sun Then slice into the landscape below. Trees cluster now in bare-branched violet groupings While the snow on the lawns is split like an eggshell. Later we meet face to face on the ground There is nothing between us. And I remember also the aroma of peanuts On almost every breath. |
| CLEAN SLATES A Tower of Babel- my heart stands before it. The empty desert- an illusion of stability when all is in flux. It's simplicity and poverty- a mirage to get lost in. It's cleansing- a rumor... as trash litters the ground- recently parachuted to fully realize its own alienation- then tear itself down. |
| THE LONG CHILDHOOD My zygote expands like an exploding star- an infinity is born and I was a trapezoid. Born with the dead eccentric and fabled an angel- easily faulted not knowing of the twisting globe beneath but nearer the moon than me- Then light & knowledge And all is lost again- but "Thou Shalt Not Question!" |
| BREAKDOWN during my breakdown on the floor between a bed and a desk I broke into laughter at my sobbing sounds- like a chimpanzee's It was so beautiful- and as pointless and brief as a snail's sizzeling Explosion on a Hot barbeque grill |
| SCENARIO In the bright squalor of the American dream colorless souls expectorate and belch out panasonic zeitgeists virtually professed as art- captivating blind masses and anemone computer troubadours embrace moral silence- but feeling, feeling always... then without sensation production ceased. |
| MY BACCHAE Mashed like Pentheus but by an elevator he challenged the dark. And there will always be something funny about a man under an elevator even when he is your best friend. |
| ILLUSIONS I've built my kingdom of heaven- on the Web spread out before us in cyber-space- the best part of myself safe as can be. Now I can hit the streets & party... while throwing my body away. |
| (c) copyright Louis Pirro 1997-2001 |
