Andrew D. Anderson » Poetry

like a swarm of noise, a mouth, it moves
on a biped frame, in polished shoes .

across space and time, it spews these sounds
in tuxedos suits or in silken gowns .

it bares its teeth and squaks quite loudly
flaunting ties and bows pretty proudly .

the noise, the sounds, the squaks the same
taught to speak, and no refrain .

most mouths move and spew that way
few do manage a thing to say .

boisterous mouths, the incessant babels,
alternatively, perhaps, society just unravels .

I was young, still naive
wanting badly to believe

that all one saw could be obtained
that life was living unconstrained

how I ran past youth, swift and sure
convinced, completely, the world was pure

upon arrival it became quite clear
this world was theirs and I was here

not for my own desires to pursue
just a worker to support the few

the few that owned all I might want
and I’d work fiendishly or be forgot

so I did, I laboured, a jaded slave
their walls to build, roads to pave

whatever made, I could not pretend
belonged to me, I was not an end

a system with no king for a coup
only politicians that corruption renew

they preached me free markets, not men
made idleness and free thought a sin

god on their side, then science too
where I found hope, they would construe

only reminders of work to be done
sold me their lies, one by one

in frustration I bred my own replacement
stupid, hoping they’d get better placement

so I gave away my life; now feeble and old
can barely subsist on the money they stole

how long should we live in quiet protest
in a system that lets only dead men rest

idyllic statues, grandiose
encourage wonder to draw close

in some remote temple stare
at mirages, however, fair

actualizations hardly theorized
all potential there unrealized

a beacon for, well, just the two
journeyed by and could not eschew

weary drifters they came to see
how everything there ought to be

perceived in awe the tailored art
renewed their will to impart

what they want, what they will
of course the statues remain still

how long before the place is lost
all its meaning simply tossed

what yet is there left to convey
but to what might it give way

a peaceful place, but how enduring
when all about it life is churning

how long dare the visitors remain
the statues stare as if in vain

beautiful, constant, fixedly glaring
and two travellers, perpetually preparing

so long ago, inside they crept
and never left, but only slept

I reached for gray, but withdrew
wanted laces, but just a few

the orange pair was fine,
but matched no style of mine,

black leather, khaki plaid, muted blue
too many options for a god-damn shoe

massaging insoles, ventilated sides,
advanced synthetic or traditional cow hides?

blinking lights, open-ended or enclosed,
who on earth, all these variations, proposed?

I can’t wear blue, I’m feeling sad…
risqué red, on a man, just looks bad…

black is far too common, white much too plain,
green is ugly; pink, maroon, purple – I disdain.

Velcro screams senior citizen; curly laces lame
buttons on a shoe – now that’s a crying shame

I want convenience, simplicity, yet outstanding style
trying on pair 14 of 975 – I’ll be here quite a while

ah, to hell with this whole shoe game…
I’m going home barefoot – just the way I came.

On the verge
of self
discovery

it semed immenent
until she
appeared

i became lost
in lust
immediatly

my life was
no longer
mine