John Greiner
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John Greiner
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Forward Strain
After so many
months of silently
sitting
at the ticket
counter counting
change
I find myself
standing shocked
at the thundering
thought
that my tongue
let slip.
My legs are set in motion. I run towards the book depository at Alexandria not realizing that it was long ago burnt to the ground, and that the scribes and snivelers who once resided there are as lost and lifeless as the beautiful conclusions captured in the ashes.
Standing with
a solitary thought
surrounded by ruins
after so much
time sitting saying
neither this,
nor that
at the entrance
to the mansion
where the mind
shut down
impels my heart
towards a heaven
with gates
unchained,
and free
of charge.
Spengler on a Toothpick
Flow river
glass broken
tombs monk’s eyes
falling from face
the nation is in
a panic
the world
is a nutshell
is nothing but
a confidence game
played out by
well born bastards
that’s the way
that it is
that it has
always been
I was reading passing ads
in a Mercedes-Benz
when the engine
exploded the driver
wanted to blame
the Germans
but I just had
to laugh there
wasn’t a bug
in the closet
so there wasn’t a way
for us to find
out who was at
fault because we
are a nation of
pointers
with broken index fingers
who wait at the gates
before annihilating
history.
