Running to the Cemetary

Well, it's a lovely day
to appreciate the work
of a couple rock bands
bent on exploring the raw
material of experience,
led by Bono and Martin,
who can sometimes be
confused if you're not
paying close attention.
If Dylan is our modern poet,
then they are our philosophers,
delving inward and outward
into modern life, the questions
that plague us, the relationships
that slay us, as they always do.

One looks at the canvas
so irritatingly broadly
they capture a wicked sense
of the order that can emerge
from chaos, the other measuring
so methodically they can
sometimes get carried away.
Both exist in their own
dream worlds, and that's
to their benefit and for
anyone who appreciates them,
but for those who don't,
they miss the poignant message.

I wish I could get everyone
to hear what they do, but
most people can hardly bother
with what's around them, such as,
yes, me, because Sadie makes
me wish she weren't here and
that she would never leave,
never, not even to go home
where she lives now. If you
listen to these bands, you
would understand, because
they're saying what we
already know, but better.