The Vindication Of The Man Thought To Be Mad By Them... Poem by RIC BASTASA

how late was it? it is five past one.
not dusky yet, but it is lonelier. I can
hear the soundless pavement now.
i sort of know for now that it has nothing to do
with what the word means. It is the sound.
It is what i have not heard. It speaks.
It is not the word. But it is the sound it had been
keeping throughout the day. It is the humiliation,
This being not believed at. This ignorance
The way you are being ignored despite the truth of
your prophecy that at the end there will be destruction.
It is not the meaning now or the coherence
Logic has no place here. It is the unheard sound
of your impotence. You are powerless here and she
is there laughing at you.

There are cars. There are too many of them
and they are going to the cliff and they will all fall
and die.

it is five past one. The gecko does not make the sound
at this hour. It has nothing to eat.

The night is without stars. There is no rain.
The trees are still. The creek is dry.

now is the time for my redemption.
Tomorrow the bank will be closed. That will be enough for
my vindication.

i told you so, but i will never tell you.