Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Returning to Egypt with a Clean Lute

by KJ Hannah Greenberg

I believe in heroes and nickelodeons, shyamalaned goings on,
Stocking stuffers, yellow violets, scapulas used as paperweights.

See recycling typing papers, buying rugose dogs, rewriting, repeatedly, sijos,
Plus remembering to breathe whenever sitting on quaggas, as good.

Revisiting steam tunnels, though, rots. Trial by fire, at most ivy-type colleges,
Leaves bridges out, invites vexatious buddies, excludes useful syllabaries.

Subsequently, ill-tuned heckle phones, sanguine monsters, coruscating dungeons,
Starry nights, opossums, random wage workers, all posture as sublimated beauties.

Buskers, perennially busy, fret, their tattered salwar kameezs notwithstanding.
They know that many adolescents’ day care providers fashion bilkis, smoke weed.

Cognitive limits imposed by cartouches, concordanced information, carry on as stale.
Mathematical concision, dirty laundry, pots of junket, yet deprive childhood innocence.

Few grasp that protecting the young matters; violetwood, as impressed upon by bores,
Unless oiled and dry, brings an abundance of enceinte. Confervae grows tendons.

Runny viscous substances, too, as determined by librarians, scatter precious treens.
Most times, collections of indolent lizards lose value, despite academic obligations.

Pulp remains literature’s costume jewelry, slimy wind instruments, again and again,
Befriend no one, not even wild ducks, not even tenured deans, not even piebald ponies.

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