Recital by Author
  Art by Ken Keegan
'Art'  2006 Ken Keegan
The Good Life

feels like living on an electronic planet
without oxygen,
finger bones showing through
when I press my hand to the TV screen.
Feels like a goldfish trying to understand
refrigerators,
the single nervous system of the faucet,
or how word-of-Godders
can watch Flintstone re-runs
without contradiction.
Music as mercy killing,
or the way civilians in camouflage pants
stand out against store fronts.
Chewing on my wife like a stale donut,
12-gauge in case of ecstasy
induced by riots.
Pharaoh in his wheelchair
hunts lions on the streets of New Orleans,
another necropolis drowned
by malevolent hawk heads.
Flowers can plead ignorance,
the grass, even swans frozen while sleeping
in winter water, but I can’t,
you can’t, we know our names
circle the planet recording
every butterfly’s wings,
every mother’s scream.