Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Waking the Sandman 3

It's hard to remember
just when the Sandman began,
when he took up his duties,
when his dreaming
conjured America
from a handful of dust

Some will argue
Chinese or Vikings
but if we're being honest
it was that bastard Columbus,
who made an epic blunder
and then thought he'd landed
in India (and yeah, that's why there's
"Indians" here, too),
Columbus who set sail
from the age of Shakespeare,
who climbed aboard the stage
and let loose a tragedy
and a miracle, made something
out of nothing (except for those
pesky "Indians"),
a pattern replicated and echoing
throughout the rest of history,
but a matter of history
that seems childish now
to our more sophisticated age,
when we can insult each other
at the speed of sound or worse,
thoughts that can be transmitted
around the world in the blink of an eye,
a regular whirlwind of depravity
in which salt is rubbed in every wound
and maggots fester, infinite jest
and most excellent fancy,
faster than three little ships
and withering looks cast between
William and Mary, or William and Kate
(I don't know),
Ferdinand and Isabella, a bull and a bear,
maybe (I still don't know),
sound and fury signifying nothing, most of all

Wait, did I just say Columbus
hailed and sailed from the Age of Shakespeare?
A tale of a fool, told by an idiot, perhaps,
and I apologize and sympathize
and bastardize,
same as everyone else,
except the Sandman,
who was sleeping at the time
and so he's not to be blamed
for the sorry mess

Or is he?

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