Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Capital Punishment

The Capital River’s burst 
Its banks, its topsy-turvy 
Tributaries overflowing 

Towards high ground, 
Headed for the safety 
Of the safe-deposit boxes 

Buried underground. 


  1. This terrific and ominous poem imitates its "message" superbly by its method (patented Vazambam), a line-by-line spillover that overflows as we follow the sense along, and ends us up in subterranean depths which future archeologists (if there is a future, if there are archeologists in it) may identify as our "now" -- this frighteningly endarkened moment in time, hid under so many sedimentary layers of untruth as to obscure even the thought of a possible "later".

  2. Vassilis,

    place "iPhones" with "safe-deposit boxes" and you'll have written the perfect dystopian poem of the death of our "now".

  3. Capital comments, Tom, for which I thank you; I only wish I had found room for Conrad's "iPhones" in the tombs but then again, nobody's perfect, right? Or is that the last supreme fiction?


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