the circular window on the gable
doesn’t show the truth behind
the circular glass of circular
context
like the words in a children’s book
having taken a merry-go-round turn
to the curb closest to reality
the hoarders, free-loaders, whites,
blues (and even blacks) have merged;
the speech-concerts have begun to spiel
on endlessly, grounds of candy caked –
the litter making the differentiations
on whose of the highest order, has rights
to whimper their words in stylized accents
while I don’t not only watch television
but speak in loud tones of matters I (k)not
only know of, but criticize the good doers
not only of their efforts
but don’t read fine prints between lines either.