NINETEEN EIGHTYEAR
NINETEEN EIGHTYEAR
IT WAS A YEAR MADE OF SOLIDS,
MAGENTA SAT IN AS PATRON SAINT.
VERTICAL IN A CANDY SHELL,
WE WERE THE WALKING TOPIARIES.
MAGENTA SAT IN, PATRON SAINT,
CUTTING FIGURES, COLD AND BLEEDING WHITE.
WE WERE WALKING TOPIARIES,
GEOMETRY DANCING ON A STRING.
CUTTING FIGURES, COLD, BLEEDING WHITE,
DEAD ORCHESTRAS IN PLASTIC BOXES.
GEOMETRY DANCING ON STRINGS
TO THE PUNCH-BEAT OF THE OCTAGON.
DEAD ORCHESTRAS, PLASTIC BOXES,
WE HAD THE KEYS, THE LOOPSET, STUTTERS,
THE PUNCH-BEAT OF THE OCTAGON.
IN PASTEL CARDBOARD-SHOULDER COUTURE,
WE HAD KEYS, LOOPSETS AND STUTTERS.
IT WAS A YEAR OF LOUD ARGUMENTS,
WRITTEN BOLD TYPE ON OUR TORSOS,
ON PLASTIC SLEEVES, AND MADE UP FACES.
IT WAS A YEAR LOUD ARGUMENTS
CAME FROM WINDOW-SMASHING MANNEQUINS.
ON PLASTIC SLEEVES, MADE UP FACES,
WE WHORED OURSELVES TO REALPOLITIK.
FROM WINDOW-SMASHING MANNEQUINS
CAME MILLION-DOLLAR SACKCLOTH AND ASH,
WHORED THEMSELVES TO REALPOLITIK.
IT WAS THE YEAR OF THE ENGLISH STARS,
MILLION-DOLLAR SACKCLOTH AND ASH.
RAISED CASH FOR AFRICAN DICTATORS,
IN THE YEAR OF THE ENGLISH STARS.
WE WORE OUR HUMILITY IN VAIN.
© 2010 BRUCE V. BRACKEN
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