Extremism

Another year has passed. 
The azaleas remained in bloom, and
The sibyl remained in her tomb. 
This is not poetry,
But it did not matter—

It did not matter
If the dust shook earth
And brought back the allergy that 
Aphasia could not cure.

It did not matter
How newspapers pressed those words
Between our ears—daily, ad nauseam, and
Still no one seemed to care.

It did not matter
If the cross was hung upside down; 
Or if all the cats were drowned—
All for the sake of rhymes.

Nothing mattered—
And I couldn't careless how the city worked. 
I did not write anything more than words, 
Because in the end of the day, 
That's what we called moderation.

Dale Chou
2002-03-05