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Poem
the future cannot be but a computation
and that's where all the problems start
one after another all at once
how are your levels of satisfaction arrived at
personally generally universally consistently
how good is your math
how good can your math be
substitute anything for the word math
mine is only a varying so so
as you may well have stereoscoped
counting fingers seems to be the norm
well why not run the village idiot
for President of the Republic then
couldn't make any difference
I mean we're all honest
as the day is long right
honest with the pictures in our heads
naming them correctly
right
right
well all personal regimes have their vulnerabilities
in such voluntary and delightful profusion
and as the pictures fade
we send the pages of text
the much expanded captions
as a pale substitute
that we hope will do the job
ha ha
ha ha ha ha
but language equals logic no escape
we communicate as we think no escape
now let me speak for a moment about warnings
they are situation relevant and situations change
so there you go ripe for paranoia
back to the future is not a movie
it is a twisted notion shielding
the entire spectrum of fakery
yes danger exists for all sides
even for the bastards who curse you
in my case it's the Dancing Monkey Curse
my inner simian has an I.Q. of 666
I'm no match but he needs me
like any parasite worth his supper
the discontinuity between us is only skin deep
but that does cover a lot of territory
my efforts at taming him have been met
with transnational quantities of sarcasm
hooting gesticulating chattering to the press
this isn't an easy case inspector
the victim didn't know he was a victim
until our most recent discoveries
at this precise moment in history
follow the money has never been truer
sung in a cleft palate aria delivered from pulpits
written by the blind sung by mutes
who can you trust any more
politicians bankers derivatives brokers
their sleek limos gliding in the moonshine
that's all you need to know
my Guardian Angel guild just informed me
we might have to leave you trapped
in the wreckage a while longer
fortunately for me it turned out to be
a mere semaphoric metaphorico-semiotic symbol
launched at the balloons overhead
I turn to them more and more often
when the going gets tough the tough get poetic
guilt assassins on every street corner



From "Theater of Utter Charm"
http://tinyurl.com/yd5wbtgt

Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
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