A TIMELY RE-POSTING

THE WORLD IS FLAT AFTER ALL

Dubbed Democracy, it used to be

top of the line, the lead ship, at sea,

and on the land it served us well,

until the strains of its death knell
fell,

baring an underbelly swole

with all the pilfered things they stole

in broad daylight, and on t.v.!

Gone is the half-belief in he

who’ll take us safely to the shore

while staying steadfast to the core.

The compass nestles in the deep

while those on board remain asleep.

They used to say the earth was round,

that right makes might, but I found

that all I knew I now know not,

nor how to tell the truth from rot,

and not so sure that we’ll endure,

to make a safe arrival.

Nan                                                  Francisco Goya. 1700’s

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
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7 Responses to A TIMELY RE-POSTING

  1. Oh my. I thought this was a contemporary poem until I got to the end. I suppose we have survived terrible leaders before. That gives me hope that we’ll survive them once again.

    Like

  2. I’ve always loved that work by Goya. A timely re-posting indeed.

    Like

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