A
boy, lost to the world
under
his thick clothes only a malnourished fear
freedom-of-speech
ornaments on the wrong side of town
the
breadline moves slow and shoegazing
it
lowers the selling prices of these properties
do-gooders
and saints have no place here!
The
yellowed promises of magazines
the
holiday spirit
is
within your grasp
those
new sweatshop-sneakers
are
within your grasp
inequity
and exploitation
are
in your grasp
and
the revolution won't even be televized
but
even that is within your grasp
as
you strangle a last gasp from your fellow man
and
in the middle of a deserted park I realize
how
easy it is to be a good person.
A
mail-ordered wifey
a
Johnnie Walker Facebook-stalker
a
redneck internet preacher descending (miten lausutaan?) the steps of
Parliament
his
speeches are filled with staring fractures
lips
glared dry
fair,
refreshing waters by the river's edge
and
their dark swirling curls
ten
little niggers high on LSD
bling-around-the-rosie
(mitä tarkoittaa?)
teenagers
these days are all strung out and nosy
gathered
round a laptop drooling over sites about war
but
there's no babushka inside their own grandma
but
ears gone deaf, memories whistling past,
teeth
made of plastic, hips made of metal
a
satellite dance on the edge of town
photocopied
sculptures snuck in between the lines
interest-free
futures and no atomic war.
What
we need are some kickass powerpoints!!!
poindexter
populists hung dry from their ties
rune-singers
from garbage yards and junk piles
folk
wisdom clichés tangled together in snowdrifts
tales
from the deep wells of experience under bridges
greasy
John Does staggering up to vote
clung
to editorials written to a bloated rote saying
c'mon
let's play nice and say YAY to the Helsinki Guggenheim
or
else we'll all be hayseeds and rubes and yokels
and
christ!! not to mention these gypsies
well
I guess they're ok sometimes
when
you're returning home from somewhere or leaving forever
when
they play those warzone ballads at the station
it's
like a field trip to the boondock straits
with
a false prophet, a True Finn as your guide.
To
have a whole mint-condish disc of Zoloft
a
backpack full of feelings you haven't dealt with yet
and
jesus, seriously, how easy it is to be a good person
the
Truth slurped from the mouth of a bottle in a paper bag
cup
by cup, the huge buzz that rises from under moustaches
the
nuzzling buddies and late-night liars
storytellers
if it kills them
whispers
captured on photographs
love's
sweet song without pubic hairs
oh
the shame! the pleasure!
unsanctioned
submarines navigating the depths of the fatherland
let's
put our backs to the wheel for the good of Us All
magic
tricks on the office couch
and
for a solitary moment
there
exists a place or a world
that
nobody can even imagine
as
of yet
Translation: Kasper Salonen
Translation: Kasper Salonen
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