Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Monday, October 19, 2015

THIS NIGHT ON OUR DOMESTIC SCREEN

THIS NIGHT ON OUR DOMESTIC SCREEN


This night on our domestic screen
a simulacrum of a man
sheds withered, drifting words upon
politic policy. They seem
like drying leaves on desert wind.
For years I have been exiled from
prosperity or even pay.

And faith grows thin.

I step outside. The air
is clear and cool in summer darkness.
Here, far from urban glare,
galactic opalescence sheens
the scattered silver of the stars.
Our minds make maps. See over there
are five, bright stars... how hard it is to see
those five, bright suns and not the mental bars
we call the southern cross.

The constellations have real stars but not
the arbitrary lines of mind's convenient gestalt.
And nations have real people not
percentages and abstract, common aims.

Dry words from dry souls hungering for fame,
these are
less real than lines from star to star.


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