Print

Poem – MEET THE MADNESS (By John Grey)

 

MEET THE MADNESS

 

A Providence twilight, late November,

every man and woman dressed in gray,

sliding in and out of panels

or emerging from dark recesses,

all faces plain, hair drab, eyes shut,

tongues muted,

and there, high up in the skyscrapers,

mouths in windows pause mid-shriek,

as, down by the riverside,

water rats crack on scattered bones

and snakes slither about freely.

 

It is a situation only complex on the outside

for, within me, as simple

as putting in an appearance,

is all that makes it happen

in the first place.

I acknowledge my mistake by living

where I have always been mistaken.

 

 

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.