
“Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?”
“To market, to market, to buy a big gun.”
we confuse
omniscience and
ignorance,
redundant
in our habitual
failure to protect
we collect
wealth, polluted with
jealousy,
smothered in
waste—we admire and support
incompetence, greed
we spend time
staring at our screens–
glowing with
apathy,
motionless, a shadow of
imminent demise

Jane Dougherty posted some randomly generated words this morning for us to use to make a poem. After seeing “blue-eyed” I could not get Dylan’s song out of my head, and the word “market” provided the reply, mirroring both the news and my continued distress about it.
I struggled to go somewhere else, but ended up with the above depressing and not-very-poetic shadorma chain.
Dylan (as always) says it much better than I.
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall