It's the misread second act that
F.Scott was
really talking about, when
all is well &
God is great &
all systems are Now.
Sanity falls
somewhere
'twixt my
Talk that won't stop, even for a
Pause, when
everyone yields to my own
observations on the human condition, &
incantations against the state, &
'you shoulda' seen me win the cribbage match...' 'tween
Listening to your she sd./he sd, & quantum
mechanic leaps & 'according to
prophecy' & 'I [heard] the news today oh boy...' that no other will
request, hear, or even deign to
know, in
hanging dialectical.
Sanity falls (an aged tree) somewhere in
between the
two (green shrub) extremes,
with the same menacing thud as what everyman has to say
with no guarantee of clarification, salvation, or (laughs) a day's pay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am very much smiling at, er, Chris' comment, and I have to agree. t x