Tuesday, March 24, 2009

thought dream 032409

The telegraph isn't working.
The airplane tumbled off the tracks.

My steam-powered radio only picks up
a Portuguese-language station.

If it's not raining.

And the guards around the broadcast tower

haven't gotten drunk again
and pissed on the transmitter.

We need funding.
We need someone to dredge the abyss.

So many children ignored the razor wire
and chased that wayward ball to the edge.

The Mandarins have left the auditorium.

Tour the subterranean passageways and
the grotto where the Virgin appeared.

Don't stand near the opening.
Don't stand near the battery-operated generator.

Your cell phones won't work here.

We strapped duct tape on the x-ray machine
to prevent sparking.

We sent forms in triplicate
to the appropriate federal agency.

Awaiting reply.

Sooner or later.

Keep taking the pills.
Hand me those pliers.

What's wrong with this frequency?
Why don't you love me like you used to do?

What happened to the monitors?
Are we there yet?

Try to avoid his spleen.
Did you wash your hands first?

It's all we could get.

Sooner or later.

That's fado, baby. Pure fado.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.