A Few Bare Poems - Poem by ron androla
i've spent an hour worming thru holes of electrons' chewing
for poems by sol funaroff, syrian-gene, depression-era,
amerikan, sickly poet; ain't much in the electricity.
figures. a man with less than a dime
becomes a young man murdered by time, not wine,
not echo - rexroth finalizes another exclaimed name,
executed names we hear dropp
like fabulous bug-splatter of a swan-dive
from twin tower roof! waving frantically,
calmly, at fast windows falling where people
are burning! drenched in jet-fuel & george's
secrets! don't clap for a communist comedian!
don't read an arab's words. don't listen
to a man with less than a dime
who is dying. look this way, george grins,
here, upon my lips a sparkle of flat-screen
television sit-com realism where all worlds
are easy, if tough. if sol is somewhere
he isn't bright, he's selling ice-cream
to workers in india. he's melting
before their tongues touch chocolate.
sol funaroff, we roll over russians with tanks
stuffed with ingots of gold; we crush russia
like dry cake under obese & squirming ass.
sol funaroff, walk away
from starvation factories where workers
gather 'round a comrade's new ford truck
with juices frothing from their mouths.
who has the largest flat-screen hdtv?
to watch shit drip from the eyes of dan rather?
sol funaroff, stay dead,
forgotten, ignored in amerika,
barely a few electrons whirl from bursting
history - that's the way to be.
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