-
-
- Poem
- By
Duane Lock
-
- IN OUR
POSTMODERN TIMES, MEANING IS
IN THE MIND OF THE BEHOLDER
-
- A tonsured
tomahawk,
- Bald wood
where once
- The
remains of a bird.
- Chants
chanted,
- Hymns
hummed.
-
- Bells were
rung,
- Heretics
were hung,
- Or else,
stake burned.
- Putti
danced on urns,
- Then came
sideburns.
-
- We studied
history,
- Studied
Dark ages in the dark
- Because we
were afraid
- To study
Dark ages
- Where
there was light.
-
- She waves
in my face
- Her
overweight ring
- And its
white eyes.
- Then,
throws as if Melisande
- The gold
circle into a well.
-
- She said I
know our
- Present
location is hell,
- So let us
find the earth
- From which
words
- Had us
expelled.
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