It isn’t doing anything for me. I’ve also read some incredible poetry written in the past few years.
Well, I got a kick out of it, particularly: “…a smog of Bronze Age graffiti sweeps across the glittering dome and stains the heavens…”
On an otherwise clear evening,
whatever the season,
a smog of Bronze Age graffiti sweeps across
the glittering dome
and stains the heavens with crude shapes and stick figures—
the doodles of a primitive mind.
Snakes and scorpions,
shepherds and fish,
cups and spoons—
no image is too dreary or mundane so long as it
reflects the anxieties and preoccupations of a life
spent farming in Mesopotamia
or trawling the ancient seas.
These connect-the-dots are among
the most heinous affronts to nature
a witless miscalculation that has corrupted
our landscape for thousands of years
and ruined a billion nights.
If only there were a way to shake
the heavenly Etch-a-Sketch
and make them all disappear!
If only we could erase the constellations!