Monday, April 11, 2011

A Little Too Quiet

8 million monkeys
swung from 9 chandeliers
while a court-reporter’s fingers
burned with fury
trying to capture the dialogue
building to a cresendo
like some self-important
10 minute rock ballad
the drum fills grew more frequent
pulses quickened
amps went to 11
keys started flying
from the type-machine
the monkeys convulsed
in a violent dance
as glass rained down
then the lights went out
and it was quiet.

A match flared in the black
but the room was empty
nothing was left
except the remnants of a type-writer
monkey poo and broken glass
the match went out
and time went on
against a background
that left no contrast
to measure it by.

Tomorrow maybe an archaeologist will come
and collect samples with the aid of unattractive grad-students
the findings will likely be less than conclusive
but this will only stir up controversy
what books will come of it?
only time can tell.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Dude, this poem is on point! It has such drive and beat. I can feel it as I read. This is really cookin'! Wow!