Oedipus in LA: Creative Platypus
Oedipus cut out his eyes and placed them On a table So he could see himself Oh tell Artaxaca that his bridges are broken down!
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November: Creative Platypus
November These are the days when I feel It would not be sad to die; My hopes and dreams add up To so little. Does life go on there In cities under grey skies? In places I know not? Tell me all your ways and stories: Men in heavy coats and caps, Coffee held in hands wrapped in finger-less gloves, Who breathe the air in plumes of smoke. I dreamt I wandered through the cities of the North And loved them. Their seasons' beauties were beautiful to me Who knows only hot and hotter. If you care to know, here is the thing that I am saying: Can our sorrows be sharpened to a sweetness and what Kassandra said come true? What is the weight, then, of one dead Irishman In a world that belongs to Swedes and Anglos? We died in droves an no one noticed except To hang signs saying "No Irish need apply". (God make us kind to Mexicans!) Can I reach across the ages and make meaning From their deaths? The only thing that matters here is service And the Iliad of...
