Al Fresco Cafe Poems #227

AL FRESCO CAFÉ POEMS #227:

RENATA’S POEM: BIRTH OF THE AUTHOR #64

I watch from my a window, a buzzard soaring,
His wings, a floating piano keyboard,
The fingers of the wind playing celestial music.
Oh buzzard, you are magnificent.

But down below your mystery and wonder,
People cruising in the cells of their egos;
People sniffing the crack cocaine of their beliefs.

I see you, buzzard, drifting through the present,
Not like people, fleeing from the present
Into the lies of their self-deceptions, the lies
Of their cherished, revered, beloved beliefs.

Oh buzzard, who naturally understands
The transcendental ego of Husserl,
The being of Martin Heidegger,
The differance of Jacques Derrida,
Without out reading these philosophers.

Oh buzzard, oh buzzard.
I wish I had been born a buzzard,
And not born one of these
Ego-imprisoned, self-deceiving human beings.


Duane Locke

Posted over on The Argotist Online