Posted by Atticus on January 9, 2006, at 20:16:29
Tragedy’s an illusion.
Just a playwright’s fickle choice,
And my nieces’s tears on the phone
Just one more dramatist’s voice,
My sister and her husband
Play bass guitar to her lead noise,
The universe in a twisted trio,
An eternal kind of poise,
And overhead stars say lazily,
It’s more of the same, my boys,
She’s like a billion billion
Children torn from threadbare toys.The gilded age of innocence
Has always been a cruel lie,
And broken animal crackers
Never survive, they just die.Annie’s sobs wrack the telephone’s
Indifferent plastic curl,
The breathtaking breaking of an
Eleven-year-old matchstick girl.
I envision her in rags from Dickens,
I picture her fractured soul
On Victorian cobblestones
That exact a heartless toll,
The crushing gravity of a
Family turned black hole,
A child actress with no clue
About her lines, about her role.The gilded age of innocence
Has always been a cruel lie,
And broken animal crackers
Never survive, they just die.I whisper words of comfort
That she already knows are trite,
Barbie and Ken lie dismembered
In their Dreamhouse through the night,
Legs and arms strewn asunder,
In betrayed rage as the fight
Between her atomic parents
Sets off nuclear white light,
And Annie’s aluminum bat
Crushes a doll’s mansion from sight,
Leaving only shards of plastic,
And this wreckage somehow feels right.The gilded age of innocence
Has always been a cruel lie,
And broken animal crackers
Never survive, they just die.
poster:Atticus
thread:597327
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20051205/msgs/597327.html