Stolen Air

I put this up a few days ago, and then had second thoughts. But after a protest from Chris Kraemer, I worked on it a little more, & here it is again. This is the original video. The revised poem is printed below.

          STOLEN AIR
                                               to Yevgeny Vitishko

         There are many in Athens who’d rather not hear you
         speak, Olympian.
         Plato, perhaps.  And Putin.
         Judges in Sochi (policemen, too).

         Go back to your Sunday tea, they pray.
         Give it a rest.  Poetry
         in polite society
         is not taken seriously – & hurray

         for that! expound the hoi-polloi.
         Punctiliousness is de rigueur
         whatever that means.  Sure,
         it’s about stuff that matters... oh boy.

         Show me the riot.  What’s your game?
         Causeries des chimps.
         Gambling works – hence the
         full Monty (my life, sorry).  Shame

         on innocence, or chumps.  Sex
         is Pharaoh’s mask, Yahweh’s unisex,
         anyone who genuflects
         otherwise... go figure!  What next?

         A naked lancer skims toward Thermopylae.
         Naiads flank across frozen
         lake.  Siberian ozone...
         Pyrrhic destination, puppy.  Hey,

         my soul’s on fire.  Let’s put ‘em there,
         where they won’t cause no trouble.
         All’s Romany rust or ruble,
         Homs, seriozhne.  Griots vein stolen air.


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