CosmopolisA Poem by Kenneth The Poet
a box four degrees high
by seven degrees wide, twenty-eight square degrees of plains, mountains, rivers, rock formations, sand dunes, and gold both yellow and green and the minutemen employed by Brownback, Ricketts and Mead are stopping the green gold on the other sides of the latitudes and longitudes exporting the independence of a wild card will not be tolerated by rectangles defined by the offspring of The Traditional Values Coalition and the outsider from a trapezoid further north sees that his quadrilateral called home is a cultural wasteland, a place where vanilla, mayonnaise and eggshell are the accepted cultural norms no public hand-holding by gay folks, no head shops every few blocks, no independent booksellers that openly advertise Chomsky, Zizek and Marxist subsequents, no main street that a diverse cast of denizens calls home in short, many states in between the ninety-fifth and one-hundred tenth meridians and between the parallels of thirty-six and forty-nine don't carry cities that boast the cosmopolis label and the ones who willingly choose to live in the safe places are really missing out a trip outside the box of normalcy rarely ever hurts, no matter the boundaries of latitude and longitude you call home take a drink from that cosmopolitan called the cosmopolis, you'll be glad you did
© 2015 Kenneth The PoetReviews
|
Stats
146 Views
1 Review Added on July 19, 2015 Last Updated on July 19, 2015 AuthorKenneth The PoetBismarck, NDAboutKenneth The Poet is an optimist wrapped in the candy shell of moroseness and cynicism. He lives between the two parallels marked 46 and 49, all while living in the state marked 39. He pretends that he.. more..Writing
|