by Michael Brett
He returned with Artie Shaw:
And the dead awoke in the puzzled soil,
Naked and staring at the horseless earth:
Bald, treeless,
Without dung, lace or carriages;
Pylons, little brick houses
With televisions jabbering
And cars parking.
Swordless and cold,
They looked for their homes
And lost beliefs like blankets;
And everything that had seemed so much
Was nothing.
~
Copyright © 2012 - Michael Brett
Published: 1/12/12 · Author's Page · Next Poem