So it Goes

The severed crab's claw does grow back,
But it gets smaller every time. The artists
Seem diminished, too. One hundred
Years ago, the weight of dying rationality
Produced a waste land. La-ti-da; a guy
From corn, in London, whines, and, then,
The scouts, still Spic 'N Span, in bombers,
Saw the ugly truth, and mumbled. What
The hell is wrong? The tick and tock of
Newton's planet wasn't what the gun sight
Saw, as Messerschmitts arrived in clouds,
And order seemed a little shaky. Write
To right the loss of faith. We are, at this
Point, past all that. We have no faith.
We know the lies, the world, as we're
Forced to see it, is a marketing device,
And any poet worth his salt has seen
He has to traffic in the excrement of
Imprecision. Let the MFAs decide,
As meaning doesn't mean a lot.
The crab's claw ever is diminished.
Our art and its culture growing
Smaller all the time.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 15 times
Written on 2013-10-19 at 03:13

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