Candor Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Candor

I stand eye to eye as a wall
Not today's made of wood, dangerous plastic
But face him like a rock of Shedeh; in my village…

And we talk back and forth
Of me and USA
And the past, present
"No never…no, no more…"
I say and see myself reflected in mirror.
It is me; only me, no one else and we talk!

I recall Pulitzer and winners
Review some and in detail I read them
See changes time to time; I repeat:
"No, no more I like the USA…"
I frown to myself as question: "And why so? "
"Days have changed! " the echoes inside me,
As young man, now needs to retire in then hope of Folsom
Prison, Tahoe Lake, cold beer and pizzas in the calm.

Read Ginsberg, the "Candor":
"Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive? "

Sure I love this poem…

Then I read another:
"please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little,
please master lunge it again, and withdraw the tip
Master drive down till it hurts me the softness the
Softness please master make love to my ass…"

And I think of Saadi, and Hafez and Rumi;
Karo is end of linem very much similar
He writes of the war-torn, and homeless; displaced…

And who cares? ? ?
What a shame! !
The "Candor" wins prize
Others are forgotten…or almost…