(Swans - November 18, 2013)
All day they sat and watched their videos
and every night they seemed to do the same;
each had favorites: they would sit through those,
tolerant toward their shared escapist aim.
Occasionally one might have to make
a car-run out to a local franchise
between movies or a commercial break
and hope not to see real things with their eyes.
Time did not exist, except "running time."
The paradise outside the mausoleum
the rogue one made for: the highway—sublime
life surged with the speed he used to flee them
to the café, content among his kind
though they, too, be the blind leading the blind.
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About the Author
David Francis has produced three albums of songs, one of poems, ALWAYS/FAR, a chapbook of lyrics and drawings, and the film Village Folksinger. His poems and stories have appeared in a number of US and UK magazines. His Web site is http://davidfrancismusic.com. He lives in New York City. (back)