Broken Pottery Ballots
by Graham Myres
Tempt me more with scars, music, and thighs,
the hightide of dissolving empires,
the illiterate are clamouring to write history books
about themselves.
Roof shingles of meaning, the yellow line
that keeps you on the right side,
keeps you from trying the other, and unknown lane...
...it's about revolution!
...not confusion; it's all about casting the die and living with its shape.
that horrible, and completely necessary moment when the
broken pottery ballots are collected, and counted...
The springtime of our age, springtime in Quebec...
...who's going to die for oil, and who's going to drive their thirsty car
to go see it go down...
It's a puppet show cast with people,
look how serious they all are...
This piece belongs to Graham, please email him and ask for persmission if you want to put it elsewhere.
