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.

                                               2.10.14