A semi-deserted city - Weebly.com
by Steve Surryhne
Only the essential and the non
are on the streets downtown
today, the city seems weirdly
semi-deserted, no throngs crowd
the sidewalks taking in the windows.
A guy without a phone, has a loud,
intense conversation, his voice
echoing off the graffiti'd boards
covering the empty storefronts.
I'm having a clearance sale
in my mind, everything must go!
A mask, a mask is all I ask!
My head is shrunken!
I have a reptile dysfunction!
The best lack all conviction
and the worst are spinning round
in the paranoid mosh pit of Q
Anon, and on and on and on . . .
People are strange when you're a stranger.
I'm a creature of my time,
shut up in my little cell of self,
self-hoodied, keeping my identities
masked from all the surveillance,
keeping my distance as in a dance.
When you're strange, faces come out of the rain.
Somewhere, lost in time, I'm
living on a planet much like the one
I knew, a different planet
from a different point of view.
“What's it your business, what's it to you?”
I've become my own doppelganger,
the strangely familiar stranger,
living in Freud's Unheimlich,
the Uncanny has become my home.
William Butler Yeats, “The Second Coming,” “The best lack . . .”
The Doors, “People Are Strange”
Sigmund Freud, “Unheimlich,” "The Uncanny”
Woody Allen, Stardust Memories, “What's it your business?”
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