A poem I wanted to share. I thought it an excellent metaphor to the perdicament with the National Security Agencies overall collection of good-natured Americans. The overall collection of data can destroy a persons life:
The moon’s little skullcap,
Has brought all color
What is you skin now–
Lime or gray?
It has a kind of phosphorescent shine.
Fluorescent? Is that what I mean?
There are no words to describe it.
That greasy tug
Might be a spy,
That flashing lens
A trained binocular.
A death rattle has obsessed the tree
And a strangling sound the harbor
Which keeps saying, “Don’t count on
As if we were such fools
To count on it ever!
I’m sorry the sick palms are so run-
The Front Street, which used to be
Looks like the street of a plague-
Empty, apprehensive, dirty.
Do not go down the step into the
A storm is coming.
Can’t you hear the wind?
Do you think I enjoy being arbitrary?
Do what I say.
Or else we’d better say goodbye right
Why did I bring you to Front Street?
The boats are here,
In case we have to make a quick get-
All right. Call it irrational fear.
The Jews in Germany, one year be-
They saw the handwriting on the
Would have thought you mad
If you’d told them where
They’s all end up. Think of Oedipus
A second before
The blind seer
Opened his mouth.
No. We’re not going back.
We’re going someplace. Anywhere.
Somewhere we can be, temporarily,
You think nature’s a left-handed com-
A French one’s more like it;
I could have told you, twenty years
It’s a dirty dig. Think of a time,
Five years, or one,
When people weren’t at each other’s
Everywhere there a miles of files
With our names typed in them, yours
The point is to be invisible
Or blinding, nothing in between–
Famous or anonymous…
But it’s much too late for people like
O.K., O.K. We’ll go back to the
A false alarm?
What a child you are!
Remember when we get back into
And the sun’s shining, oh, so bright,
And everything seems so right, so fine,
Front Street will be waiting at our
– HOWARD MOSS (date unknown)