A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
The Fall I have always wondered if by reading a paper upside down held by a man sitting in front of you on a morning train full of commuters, of mothers, of fathers, of bosses, of beggars, of secretaries, of someone’s aunts and someone’s brothers, of keepers of diaries written badly those half-dead, caffeinated ghosts those converted drunks of morning light trying to make the most of the square inch or two allotted to them, you ran the risk of making your whole world fall down on its head -- The Indignation Parade But then I saw indignation in its purest form distilled in their mouths the ovens of rage leaving their bodies soaring up into the sky souls launched with the advent of the last sigh the miniature kites a forest of fists I saw hovering over their heads once tucking their children in each fist the size of an extracted heart the empty nests in a chocolate box but as they passed me I saw my hand trembling a vacillating fly uncertain whether it should stay fly away or die
F.R. Foksal’s essays and reviews can be read at The Nonconformist.
Copyright 2020 F.R. Foksal