Thursday, October 1, 2009

Poetry Year September 30

Mad men, mad money, mad isn't the name of a star yet.
Mad times, mad moments, mad dogs, MAD is an acronym, I bet.
Mad hatters, mad mad worlds, I've never read, Mad magazine.
Mad Max, the beginning of some genre or other,
Mean Average, Deviation, it's in a textbook I gave to my brother.
Museum of arts & Design, how ever did that get Mad?
But for all our advertising, I think that we've been had.

For everyone I meet, who tells me that the world is overturned,
I read the newspaper headlines, and I cannot think what I have learned.
Those who have, reap somewhat more,
those who have not, get less than before.
Only the instant threat, of annihilation,
seem to slow the gradual cremation,
of every little bit below,
by the few, who are in the know.

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