LA Times, Wednesday
When imagination fails, and whimsy
Shrinks from dry to arid, what can one do
To prime the pump of creativity,
To plump rich words that sing of joy, of rue?
Pick, dig, shovel, delve: mine the Daily Press—
“Suicide attack in Algiers”—dozens
Killed. “Raids in Iraq” (not clear which group blessed
That cock-up). “Blast in Pakistan” (surgeons
Do their best, but more than thirty die, crisped,
By keen martyrs—embracing god-soaked death).
For what? So much for rue. Perhaps a wisp
Of joy: that LACMA exhibition, breath,
Spirit lift, thrilling art—what will it be?
Kienholz, “The Illegal Operation”?
Still appalled, those stinging fiends, the nation’s
Squirming worms, would burn it—unfit to see!
I’d sigh at such a world—bleak, dark, damned, cursed—
Had August twenty-first not turned out worse.
(8/25/08)