in preparation

the new school
year shifts on
its haunches. curious
and frightened it
is awaiting a
signal, a gesture,
a reason to
move forward. the
hunter reads his
books and formulates
his gun, loaded
with words, assertions,
and goals. taking
thorough aim at
the year, he
pauses and concludes
that this will
be his year
to do something
new and good.

master newspeak double
plus good he
will say to
the students rapt
in oldspeak delirium.
in pouring through
the text a
third time, the
hunter becomes keenly
aware that this
forest is no
longer wild and
predictable but deliberate
and controlled. conspiracy!
some folks would
say and thusly
marked as whackos.

but sometimes there
is truth mixed
in that accusation.

orwell is right
and time to
prevent has already
passed, slipped into
the past while
we watched dancing
with the stars
or megan wants
a millionaire or
whatever reality we
wanted to believe
was real on
the HD portal.

the old guard
is dying and
the new guard
is airbrush and
glucose. here are
some words i
put together a
year ago...

when the choices are few
and there's one way to go
television telling you
everything you know

from the back of the line
on the tips of your toes
you're still guessing shit
you should already know



something to remember
i am just
as guilty of
passivity as anyone.

grimm