Phil's Poetry part 6

I have been scouring old notebooks to find poems for these Phil's Poetry posts. This is one of the few that had a date on it. I wrote it on April 4, 1986. I was just 21....ah, youth!

In A Boullion Minds

Floating in cups of old, grey bouillon
dark pieces of small, unknown matter
draw a pensive eye to behold them
Blue human beings in bare households
sit alone, as if it didn't matter
and look in to cups to try to get to know them

In cupboards, under rooftops
along rows of stone streets
chipped dinnerware slowly turns to sands
while lonely hunted beggars roam
and rarely another meet
and eat scraps and handouts with their hands

Someone inside their minds protects them
a fact confirmed by rumours
spread by T.V., our almost flawless medium
The printed word, the ruptured lines
remind us of a past disaster
and fly from our memories as boring tedium

Shawled grandmothers criticize,
epitomize the things to come
crawling ever closer to the comfort of uncertainty
And we the eyes, we scrutinize
behind telescopes and with no hopes
of ever being what we are so sure to be