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We are a public forum committed to collective reasoning and the imagination of a more just world. Join today to help us keep the discussion of ideas free and open to everyone, and enjoy member benefits like our quarterly books.
There are gorgeous castles in France awkward and ponderous
To live in now, tho the owners who did live
In them were all famous and as modern as possible
Then, which meant fireplaces and a square hole in many walls
To lift food up to them or slide poop down, two different holes
On different sides of the cold damp rooms.
Ditto in England. In Ireland there were bigger castles, beautiful monsters,
And what we now think of as Germans wanted them.
These so-called Germans, actually Merovingians, lived in quonset
Huts of straw, branches, and, oh, a little adobe.
They were more warlike than the Nazis and nearly as
Foolish. Boiled dead on the Irish walls their first trip.
(They had many little boats to get there.)
(Numerous survivors of boiling were allowed to return to Merovingia to tell the tale
As a warning.) The tale got the German collective psychic blood boiling
And “naturally” they went back and this time the Irish,
Who were better cleverer viciouser fighters if you can imagine,
Chopped up all but a few, cleverly chopped up
The trunks of bodies besides the obvious appendages and nuts
And dicks, and only a few survivors were allowed
To return to Merovingia to tell the tale. The
Irish made them cast off from Ireland in their little boats
With bags of arms, heads, and the aforementioned creative carvings
Of pieces of trunks together with bags of German or Merovingian genitals
But the Germans or Merovingians threw these in the deep sea
While returning to Germany where more collective blood boiled
And they were hysterically stirred up and vowed to do
Things I hesitate to mention here. So, right, they went back
And the Irish ate them all. These were some castles, thick, big
And organized, unlike our castles in California where there are two,
The Hearst Castle which contains hoax art and kitschy art and the Dylan castle
Which is just a big house at the end of Las Virgenes Road on the sea
That outside looks like a castle but inside has the amenities
Gas heat, hardwood floors, subzero fridge, and lots of guitars
And amplifiers and phones, unlike the Irish castles.
Today people are different too, including the famous like Bob and Joan,
The powerful like William Randolph,
And us, the simply well-known, and also even the illegal
Immigrants and the managers and grocery baggers are different than the Irish
And the old Germans or Merovingians. We are like blocks or stones
Placed next to each other and on each other for strength, warmth, and companionship,
Imagine such mutually beneficial purposes in the one arrangement! in
A wall or stairs as it goes up into the sky to make a home!
Arthur Vogelsang is the author of Expedition: New and Selected Poems. He conducts poetry workshops at ArthurVogelsang.com.
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