an unrehearsed universe

Port in the Storm

Any port in a storm,
isn’t that what they say

Who are they,
anyway,
to have so much say

I always picture
a court full of old men
wigged out in somber robes

all twigged out on change

searching for
stable meaning
in a spinning brass globe

shouting
         Eureka
like a mad Greek proto-scientist

When amidst
the trembling storm of time
they find a quiet cove

untouched by men

an unexpected twist
in this age of the instant
communication globalization
         specialization

attention-span deficient nation
they fight unsuccessfully to protect

further horrors
presaged by the multiplying drawers
of modernity

built to contain
maintain
a status quo

to explain
away

the electronic revolution
that like Joe Turner
has come and gone

They find there on their globe

a relic of the old world,
like un-pierced earlobes
and going to your grave
with your skin
         as unblemished
as when you came in,

covered with angelic script
across the continents

a requiem in calligraphy
         all that remains
of the empire of western civilization

They spin their globe
with a believer’s delirium

and land
upon the island of times past

where the grass was greener
         the women were sweeter
                   the drinks were neater

The original port in the storm