By J.J. Tindall
Ballistics Exonerate the Furies
Some balletic storm of wind
Has stayed the mind.
From dark silence
Comes the shadow-play
Of a short ballet.
Or is it just bullet spray
From a passing Chevrolet?
Life is a nightmare of relentless fury,
Like a windstorm on Jupiter,
Like a pulsar in dead space,
Like a black tear on a red face,
A skull of diamonds in full grimace
In the mezzanine
At a guillotine.
As I say, life is a nightmare of relentless fury.
O joyous delirium!
Listen: All that is good
Is even better now,
Every miracle more miraculous.
Let the wind clear the storm,
Let the ballet fill the silence,
Let the black tears daub
The red diamonds.
Let mind resurgent mobilize the palliatives:
Streetlights become mobiles
By Alexander Calder, the sky
Like a painting by Gerhard Richter
In his gray period,
The franchise cluster at Harlem & the Ike
Like a painting
By Peter Blake, Andy Warhol
Or Ed Ruscha,
The stack of Volvos
In a glass tower there, clearly
Jeff Koons,
Robins and jays
By Tony Fitzpatrick,
My fellow bar-flies
By Robert Guinan.
Perhaps I am singularly damned,
Indicted by the gods,
Targeted by the Furies
For heinous transgressions
Traceable only to me.
Some balletic storm of mind
Has stayed the wind.
Ballistics exonerate the Furies.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on March 6, 2017