Friday, March 20, 2015

Money Moon and Racer Dreams

Remember on Wednesday at the scenic overlook,
the fog rose and the crowd gathered to witness
an array of seagulls chanting the new hymn
at the start of a new planetary system.
We were once a human race,
however, drugs broke our systems.
We met with the clown masked people,
their music we cannot discuss (it's hideous)
and thus here we are, barely living at all.
The collaborators and the contractors,
the higher-ups in economical strides
passed the time away with golf or
miniature horseback riding.
The joke was on the jocks and their
distasteful long socks.
Looking for the languid days of southern
comfort, hire a maid and male stripers.
The gay man hollered to the wonderfully swollen lady,
"take back my food and bring me water!"
A news anchor broke down the static barrier,
we have retrieved a wavelength.
A sparse reminder of a humane existence.

The seagull hymn has now ended
and the grander event is still to proceed,
remain within contemplative caution
that we do not overthink the darkness
as the light arrives...
granting forgiveness and acceptance that
the dark had to happen in order
for this rebirth.
Would we be thankful at all if
the warbler warped and snapped in half?
The distance and sparkling suspicion
the expansion of a deep breath,
widening a gullet and opening skulls,
barricading the ocean and a sea skippers core.
Would we be thankful for
the sandpiper skips a schooner for a
one-handed spooner?
The entitlements are limitless so long
as we abide by the light and keep
the newly crisp and informed shadows
at arms length.
Would we be thankful for fresh
bacon atop a tin roof only to have
a rooster pick up with its beak and give
it off for money at the race tracks?
No, that is poorly constitutionalized and
caramelized lame.

Digress into the digestive bunker,
our own planet has swallowed us
and now giving up the strength to
push out the rear!
We are wasteful but at least we live!
Alas for the new days ahead!

I have been talking this poem aloud
to my companion mystery clown
that died long ago...
and to tell you the truth,
depressing the pressure exerted
amongst the groveling hunger
and dissimulating the masses
out of weapons and porn,
I have to say I am depressed.
Yet, I am undressed for you,
the viewer, you must now know that you are
the creepy voyeur.
And I convey to you my last lash
that I am naughty for you.
A hankering for a romp in the hay...
what say you?
The new light brings about a change
in me, the way that my heart beats
and my body moves.
I'll twirl for you and land on the bed.
Make that our destiny.

What should have happened by now
is that the republic replica
transfer an image to our
individual vision screens.

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