Are you any different than your neighbors, those comrades -thick and rubberized- with blood in their belly's but not much anywhere else? Forget them. They're always around too often, anyways. Let's hear more about you. The trees have the lorax, but who is your spokesman? No one corporate, no. A sports icon, not really. Someone artistic, in the media? Maybe. But who? Thompson's dead and so is Ginsberg. Dammit. God gets the timing all wrong. Where is the modern voice of critique, that sharp knife of a word, to cut the loud mouths down to size. Only it can express what I feel but cannot write or say. And I need It badly. It needs to put Him in perspective. And guide me with reason, never faith. Tell me if you've figured it out.
A.G
No comments:
Post a Comment