Thursday, August 26, 2004

(FINAL 7 sonnets of 154) THE ARTIST AT THE END OF THE GOAD {smile}


{ACS.148_01} UNTIL YOU WONDER WHY things are

"this way" ...
{ACS.148_02} As long as you show up and go along ...
{ACS.148_03} Until you analyze the games we play
{ACS.148_04} instead of overlook what might be wrong ...

{ACS.148_05} ... You'll have no real idea what freedom means.
{ACS.148_06} If you don't ask "Why this?" what kind of choice
{ACS.148_07} will you have in your life? What kind of scenes
{ACS.148_08} can you choose to be in? What can you voice ...

{ACS.148_09} ... beyond the slogans of the TV ads
{ACS.148_10} and nurs'ry rhymes of childhood that remain
{ACS.148_11} entwined with formulas all college grads
{ACS.148_12} regurgitate, but never can explain.

{ACS.148_13} No, we learn early on to not ask why
{ACS.148_14} unless you want to get the evil eye.

{ACS.149_01} REFLECTING ON "WHAT IS" is only for
{ACS.149_02} those with the time to do it. And who does?
{ACS.149_03} Few ever have the freedom to explore
{ACS.149_04} the undercarriage of the surface buzz.

{ACS.149_05} We'd rather learn how best to grease the wheels
{ACS.149_06} than question if we ought to drive at all.
{ACS.149_07} We'd rather learn how Donald structures deals
{ACS.149_08} than wonder how to come to have the gall ...

{ACS.149_09} ... to bullshit lots of folks with such success.
{ACS.149_10} Just tell us step by step how we can climb
{ACS.149_11} the ladders set in place. We acquiesce
{ACS.149_12} to everything -- just pay us overtime.

{ACS.149_13} Necessity is what most runners face.
{ACS.149_14} They have no time to question why they race.

{ACS.150_02} for av'rage people. Not for Socrates
{ACS.150_03} or criminals or artists who may sneak
{ACS.150_04} around society. Do as they please.

{ACS.150_05} We may not have the best world that could be
{ACS.150_06} but better than the one we do not know.
{ACS.150_07} We can't afford much curiosity.
{ACS.150_08} The new could bring about
some brand new woe.

{ACS.150_09} The politician's job is not to change
{ACS.150_10} the nature of reality, but keep
{ACS.150_11} our way of life within our comfort range.
{ACS.150_12} That world lies on the surface, not too deep.

{ACS.150_13} The job of president is swim across
{ACS.150_14} what we believe preventing any loss.

{ACS.151_01} AN ARTIST or a prophet or a nut
{ACS.151_02} may shout out from the sidelines diff'rent things
{ACS.151_03} than everybody knows. Each angry "but"
{ACS.151_04} could well be true. And rabbits could be kings ...

{ACS.151_05} ... if aliens from outer space arrive
{ACS.151_06} and laser-beam us all to crispy-thins.
{ACS.151_07} NO, REAL LIFE is the deal with which we strive.
{ACS.151_08} We want security not theory-spins.

{ACS.151_09} How can the loner speak of common ground?
{ACS.151_10} A howler in the wilderness define
{ACS.151_11} reality for us when they're unbound
{ACS.151_12} from our constraints? Unless they are divine.

{ACS.151_13} And we don't think that likely in our day.
{ACS.151_14} We go to church but don't know how to pray.

{ACS.152_01} Well, that's all well and good until things get
{ACS.152_02} too out of balance, then you need a sage --
{ACS.152_03} Someone who says if you are getting wet
{ACS.152_04} then get out of the rain instead of rage ...

{ACS.152_05} ... about the fact your panties are not dry.
{ACS.152_06} Some say, of course, it's you and not the rain --
{ACS.152_07} you must have wet yourself with tears you cry.
{ACS.152_08} No, no there are no clouds. You're just insane.

{ACS.152_09} The artist says that's bullshit -- ev'ry drop
{ACS.152_10} is real, and it is stupid just to stand
{ACS.152_11} out in the rain, when you could make it stop.
{ACS.152_12} And no, this is not some strange wonderland ...

{ACS.152_13} Just notice that it's raining. Go inside,
{ACS.152_14} dry off, and ponder what BOKE's prophesied.

{ACS.153_01} SINCE JANUARY I have cast my gaze
{ACS.153_02} upon this project's possibilities.
{ACS.153_03} Its fundamentals perfectly in phase
{ACS.153_04} with all my int'rests. But it's Cutler's keys ...

{ACS.153_05} ... in the ignition, so what could I do
{ACS.153_06} but watch it drive away and off a cliff?
{ACS.153_07} This was no situation where a coup
{ACS.153_08} could turn the car. Pull out a handkerchief ...

{ACS.153_09} ... and wipe away a tear -- just one -- to grieve
{ACS.153_10} the death of an idea that had charm
{ACS.153_11} enough for lots of people to believe.
{ACS.153_12} I hope that in the end it did no harm.

{ACS.153_13} Just one more sonnet and I'll turn my head
{ACS.153_14} to other projects that are not so dead. {smile}

{ACS.154_02} that closing time has come
when beer runs out ...
{ACS.154_03} And when to fresher holes it's time to go.
{ACS.154_04} The smallest bunny doesn't even pout.

{ACS.154_05} A NEW ADVENTURE's always being brewed.
{ACS.154_06} And Bunny feet are fast and long enough
{ACS.154_07} to span whatever pebbled interlude
{ACS.154_08} must be traversed.
Though sometimes it is tough ...

{ACS.154_09} ... to pull big-headed BOKE out of the hole
{ACS.154_10} that they had pulled him into at the start
{ACS.154_11} of their last hare-brained scheme or worthy goal
{ACS.154_12} in which they're sure he ought to play a part.

{ACS.154_13} The Necessary Angel winks at God.
{ACS.154_14} I don't know what that means...
or why He'd nod.

# # #


Those 154

completes 1000 sonnets

between elections.