Wednesday 20 April 2016

2 Poems by Louis Gallo


Think how easy it must have been
back in the Stone age
when all you had to do,
between tokes, was survive.
Or is it like that now?
Where the garden from which
we were expelled?
I drew a picture once on the cave wall,
but forgot to sign my name.
I drank some grizzly bear wine
and in my stupor tumbled down
the crag and died.
They found me five thousand years later,
frozen, intact--and some of them
smoked the herbs in my shaman's sack.
That picture I drew in ochre and ash
was a self-portrait. 


Traveler, beware, reality
is closer than you think.
And it can kill you
in an eye blink.
What you think you see
may be
the greater blind spot,
and that other, not. 

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