Wednesday, October 23, 2013

untitled sonnet in the approximate style of k.m.

all the times you come and then the
time you come to say good-bye

this idea of standing
still for thirty years

this poem
which grows from the
one that came before it

which will lead to the one that
comes next and
all of them without subtlety and
all of them without nuance

without meaning but
meaning is overrated anyway

the rich will continue to
slaughter the poor
no matter how many sad little
                         songs we sing

our children will throw out our ashes

our grandchildren will
forget our names

the future has always been the
best place to go to
erase the past