we move in under cover of darkness
with our blankets for the night
huddled in a dark corner
we are occupying the up-market
end of town where star arts
happen under the guise of excellence
the star arts receive funding
every year they drink cock-tails
they appear on television screens
we look like a bunch of hobos
we've come a long way
up from the dark caves
where we've been meeting
these last weeks so our rustic
attire is intentional
we say we represent
the arts at the edge of chaos
well beyond your horizon
in the darkest hour of the night
we begin our chant we draw
the spirit of rebellion to us
by morning all that is left
are a few leaves some woven threads
butterfly wings and small red hearts
Wonderful, Sue!
ReplyDeletegreat
ReplyDeleteSo moving, I am also enjoying the narrative of the sequence very much, Susan.
ReplyDeleteIt's a bit out of order, but that's how the poems fell.
DeleteMoving
ReplyDelete