The Rip Post                                                                                              


SOME DUST BOWL,
SOME CHAMPAGNE


seen them long halls
they keep on taking you for hours
you finally get to the mattress, where comfort supposedly
hangs
oh, they hanged comfort some days ago
the strain of trying to keep it from bolting was too much.
ah well, the arresting officers agree,
some dust bowl, some champagne,
arguments waiting to pay their bills,
seen them long tall ones
trying to reach up to just another shelf
where the new planets come to play.
i had spent too much money
but my cravings just had to have their
reliable say. some market that never closes,
promises it will be fair,
and we trade our freedom in for
some obstreperous rainproof shack called security.
child, said my arms, i may not be able to hold
up too much longer.fool,would be child sings,
i'm holding you up.put on another movie.
they say the actors finally arrived.
some momentary fit of compassion,some
slow methodical answer.where the
only planets have very little time in which
to truly play.some dust bowl's boot of champagne.
i traced my skin and found your house in it.
i boated downriver in my blood and found your
heart in it.
they say we all finally arrive.
compassion's obstreperous answer.
down that slow timed long hall.
feel the warm water navigate your back.
cooling venues of reason
listen then
to the torn up sparrow
reinventing itself
just in time for the show.
listen to us then
some whimsy,some screaming
we
arrive
and count
ourselves
among
the so called
living.
and the life
shakes us with
possibility.

---Scott Wannberg
(listening to robert schwartz sing walk me out in the morning dew.)

Accident Cathedral
You wander in and they disappear you.
Nothing in the news but more accidents.
Got to find a safe place and scratch.
They got real young looking people
building cities made up of bins.
I used to have a workable guide book,
but the editors kept dying off.
Accident Cathedral called yesterday,
said it wanted to learn the folk music.
Well, if I ever find out the folk
then the music just might try.
You whittle yourself down for the night.
Nothing in them SOS signals but more accidents.
How one man's throat can sing such a long time song.
Don't nobody here try to know any better.
Say your names in unison
when that wrecking ball comes looking for a room.
We dance around the sun, I heard it said.

---Scott Wannberg

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