Though truth can be smothered, it's always uncovered.
Facts are just residue; sticky opinions
That decompose slowly, before they are wholly
Liquified; proof disappears with the witness.
The body loves twitching; so free of the itching
Life tends command, it is free to be rigid;
To burn up the lipids; to pulse with insipid
Fury, then slacking forever—then rotting.
The scent is much shriller (of course) for the killer;
Spoiling her evening, her marriage to status;
Her trips to salons where it stinks up her hair—
Rotting at breakfast, at dinner and bedtime.
""Good morning Anita Hill, it's Ginni Thomas," said the message left this month, according to a transcript provided by ABC News. "I just want to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something. I would love you to consider an apology sometimes and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband."... But Lillian McEwen, a former Senate Judiciary Committee lawyer who said she dated Clarence Thomas from 1979 through the mid-1980s, told The Washington Post in an interview that Hill's long-ago description of Thomas's behavior resonated with her. "
—Michael A. Fletcher, Washington Post Staff Writer, Wednesday, October 20, 2010; 10:19 AM
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/10/19/AR2010101907062.html
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1 comment:
The poetry presents life both on a social and cellular level—prompted various images of breakdown for me; also reminded of literary deconstruction. Powerful News Poem.
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