by M. M. Kolf
Dark rhythmic thundering rattles this city
Blasting, pounding and pillaging
My ears ring echoes…
This generation X! Ho!
A belly dance
At a sprinter’s pace
They bind themselves with chords,
Scores of cocoons,
(The worm stays a worm.)
Silence is blotted from the bars
My place is no refuge
Noise crashes in.
I search for a novel place
To listen for the chime of truth
In the quiet immersed within.
