|Three From Draime|
The Suits Won't Go Away
I've seen these Suits
with dead faces,
since I was a
kid. I remember
closing my eyes tight,
at an insurance salesman
or a preacher ( how do
you tell the difference? ),
and praying he would not
when I opened
I still do it at times with
CEO's in their
designer suits, and generals
in battle dress: death arrayed
in ribbons across
I shut my eyes tight still,
at morticians and talk show hosts,
and lying politicians,
with a hint of color in their
Porky Pig neckties.
Not to say, though, that all
men who have worn or who wear
suits are on my shit list.
Camus looked fantastic in a suit
Presley wore suits with a super cool.
Miles and Coltrane and Kenneth Patchen
And Einstein wore a black rumpled suit
with impeccable class.
I admire men like that who happened to
have worn suits!
Men who have something to sell
war, mind control and
I know the Suits will not go away,
no matter how long
I close my eyes and pray.
It's been the same since
the white race rose to power.
The Huns were Suits, and down
the line, Hitler.
Many of our leaders imitate him,
wearing his Suit of death:
perfect fit, no tailoring
Barrister For The Machine
of the dumb
(ignorant by choice)
because he knows
by moral & spiritual
which he denies
or thinks are cons
though, he's the con
the back stabber
knowing & kissing
then betraying it.
sometimes it points to the sky
of blue pointing like a bird
dog. sometimes it buries itself
deep in the nothingness
of political thinking. sometimes
it screams through the black
black lies once told by you
and I. sometimes it just sits
there like J. Edgar Hoover
with a cheap tape recorder
plotting your death. sometimes
it spends years adding up numbers
in an attempt to round off
infinity. sometimes it hides
in the couch with change
from 100's of pockets.
sometimes it burns and burns
the trees we can't see the
forest for. sometimes
it runs like a out of control
driver less locomotive down a
steep mountain pass.
sometimes it stands trendy poets
up against the wall of
timeless literature and shoots them.
sometimes it lances boils on the
butts of opossums. sometimes it checks
into motels under the names of
Curly, Moe and Larry. sometimes it
loves beauty for the right reasons.
sometimes it can name every
painting in the Chicago Art Museum
blindfolded. sometimes it is impossible
to decode with extra sensory perception
or any other kind of perception.
sometimes it breaks your heart. sometimes
it plans wars on planets in
distant galaxies. sometimes it
whittles exquisite little angels
out of cherry wood. sometimes it stands on
its head and imitates Erica Jong.
sometimes it captures butterflies
then sets them free in the Pope's
bedroom. sometimes it goes into
tirades over the absurdity of
collective consciousness. sometimes it
teaches law students at Harvard how to make
tiny gas chambers. sometimes it stumbles around
in Dante's Inferno selling copies of
Milton's Paradise Lost. sometimes it poses
as P.T. Barnum standing behind
a billboard trying to explain the difference
between propaganda and advertising.
sometimes it wishes on a star. sometimes
it pretends to be a tug boat on the
Mississippi in 1859. sometimes it's
a relief. sometimes it surfaces
in London claiming it never knew
the gun was loaded. sometimes it
whirls like a ballet
dancer in the middle of
a completely empty Times
Square. sometimes it simply
is not there regardless of what
blind faith may say. sometimes
it counts all the hairs on your
head then splits them. sometimes
it can be caught adjusting the
color control on the telescope at
the Griffith Observatory
peters out before you do. sometimes
it gets solar activity
to disrupt tv transmissions. sometimes
it resembles a dove
flying above. sometimes it shoots out
sometimes it never never stands
in a certain place overlooking
the Hudson river. sometimes it
has no remorse. sometimes it shines!
sometimes it rolls around in history.
sometimes it's as lonely as a
grave. sometimes it sky drives in
the Grand Canyon. sometimes it
can be heard giving a testimony on true
love at the Taj Mahal. sometimes it takes
pictures of fat men eating. sometimes
it fastens itself on the
back of poor judgment. sometimes it holds to
truths that are self evident. sometimes it wanders
around in the wilderness for 40 years missing
the way out repeatedly. sometimes it's out of
focus. sometimes it has no reason
for being. sometimes it foams at the
mouth then spits up into oblivion. sometimes
it hammers invisible nails into
smog, sometimes it simply is! sometimes it
sets a course for Easter Island. sometimes
it walks the floors at Graceland. sometimes
it has a way of fooling the wisest of men.
sometimes it leaks information to
expired newspapers. sometimes it
has no way of coping. sometimes it
circles the covered wagons. sometimes it knows no
limits. sometimes it climbs mountains
dressed in a tuxedo. sometimes it
is released from bondage. sometimes it is
functional for a few minutes.
sometimes it divides nations,
shimmers on the moonlit water. sometimes it runs a
race with stolen shoes. sometimes it pauses
for applause. sometimes it deals cards
from the bottom of the deck. sometimes it alters
events for diabolical purposes. sometimes it is
your friend. sometimes it jumps like a
jack rabbit into the red moon. sometimes it moves
around the bases like a 90 year old Babe Ruth.
© 2005 - Doug Draime