Monday, January 29, 2018

Oasis



Oasis

I thought about eternity until God turned up dead
in a textbook. Capitalism wears its tuxedo over
a blood-stained t-shirt. I like genius al dente.
Jean-Michel Basquiat paintings. His sneakers
scuffing the canvas. I wander this intermission
between Ted Talks and the Apocalypse. I’m 
obligated to tell you my sadness is a private desert.
Optimism pirates broadband from a small oasis.
Halo or aura? My migraines are real. The world
is a chrysalis full of oil spills and hiccups and missing
children, and yet, something is materializing…..
All new monuments come in primary colours.
My voice is bronzed. Being brain-washed sounds
like a nice vacation, but how I would miss out
on all this not knowing anything! Anger
can be turned into a hammer if held too long.
A memory is a precious stone. Try not to hit
one with the other. The emitting sound
emanates through decades. Hurts your children.
Your children’s children. The play is over.
You sift the narrative. Someone was in love,
then wasn’t. Someone gained some valuable
knowledge, then died. The actors stand around
waiting for you to leave the building. If given
a choice, I suppose I would take a waterfall
over Xanax. Beauty demands fealty. Sometimes
you have to close your eyes and fire all flares.  

By Chris Banks
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