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After Nero
We play music, write poetry, dance
on the rooftops of Rome, Aleppo, Dallas
and in the stinking latrines of refugee camps
we read Homer, Dylan Thomas, Khalil Jibran
in danse macabre we imitate Nero, ostriches, lemmings
Amidst the performances of flamingos and butterflies
and in the klaxon music of vultures and hyenas
we open our prayer books, sing hymns of devotion
mouthing and re-mouthing commandments
we don’t understand, yet rule our tempo, our tempers
We dig into the litter of operas that came before ours
searching for golden goblets made by wise fingers
for love letters written to the future in some prehistoric dawn
our metal fingers scratching empty melodies in foreign sand
© Johnmichael Simon
2012
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