Page 46 - WTP VOl. VIII #6
P. 46

George Franklin
 39
In a Suburb
In a suburb of Austin, Texas,
A butterfly dreams he’s a Chinese Philosopher. All the garage doors
On the block open their mouths to take Communion. You say it’s sad when stars Collapse into themselves. I agree,
But when Zarathustra met himself
In the garden, the earth did not stop Turning, though the prophets who’d entered
Had all gone mad. Who is that sitting On the stone bench, up ahead in the Shadows? Rabbi Akiba
Entered in peace and left in peace. Still,
I think there is something wrong with the World. In that dream, Nestor appeared. He
Wanted to speak, but the sounds from his Tongue were not the speech of the Nestor We knew, but guttural then shrieking,
The language of apes or men dying. The war had been a war of desire. All the men wanted Helen, and black
Carrion birds ate the genitals
And eyes of heroes. In the cornfield At Antietam, bullets closer than
Corn stalks, the dead prone, in formation. Which of us was deceived more, you who Who woke to your clothes and mirror, to
The same face yawning, the same voice rough With sleep, or me awake even in
Sleep, my wings covered in dust, floating?

















































































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