by Bill Yarrow
Why go outside when you can play the piano
to disaffected engagés in rooms with mirrors
the color of linoleum? Why go outside when you
can commune directly with the lucent dead?
Why go outside when oysters can be had inside
in cans and Moliere can be had in leather? Why
go outside when striped marmosets will dance
Morse code on your bedroom dresser at dawn?
Why go outside where it is benighted and
melanomic? Why go outside where the gutters
are fraudulent and clogged with popularity?
Why go outside where you could catch Asperger's?
Why go outside where left-handedness is discouraged
and righteousness has been redefined as acumen?
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This poem appears in WRENCH (erbacce-press 2009).
The poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012).
Good one. The last two lines really caught my attention. I'm left-handed and love the outdoors...haha
Why indeed? I have to go outside now, but not before I tell you how I enjoyed this poem. So many delightful lines here. When I come back inside I will read it again.
Very interesting, textured, and lovely poem
Nice poem, Bill. I really like the form. Good music in the lines - Good breaks. Favorite: "Moliere can be had in leather"
Bill very nice work here. I like where this leaves me...
* "When you have to make a Choice and don't make it, that in itself is a Choice":)
/about introvert`s choice/