The Dams

we were not those complacent creatures, we had less sordid smiles when we didn't know each other better and at the tables we attended we were real. every dish, every letter, every word, all followed the authentic singularity that we were, different from this plastic and polite anomaly of today, carved in these same streets of ugly corners, accepting solemnly the interpretations, fearing what they will think and the concepts they would have of us. the white bark of the fierce world is this: chaos and clear warning that the seasons swelled. there's a dam breaking here and there and what flows is the lava that washes us and takes us and we are the weeping, we are the ones who are not prepared for this nightmare, for this wake up.

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L Milton Hankins

Date: 10/12/2022 8:38:00 AM

I like the mystery of this poem, Marco. I'm not sure how to interpret it. I thought about those who are servants (servers) and who must work hard to please their masters (customers). I'm almost certain the last seven lines interpret the first twelve. Help?

Marco Chies
Date: 10/12/2022 12:52:00 PM

This is a poem about how we've become complacent with the ways the world tries to shape us, unlike when we were young and had the originality of innocence. By the tables we attended, I refer to the jobs we have already performed, in bars, offices, publishing houses...