Tuesday, January 28, 2014
a terrible dreaming into the future
Two
crispy crackheads giving head in a hallowed out rusted car body in my
driveway, till it falls, car, crackheads, house and all, over the cement
edge, into a dark brown ocean, heavy with chunks and hunks of metal,
plastic, muck. Garbage and waste are too small of words, this is a sea
of shards of human filth, the waves are choked by it. The sky is gray,
dark, menacing, punctuated by silent streaks
of light, sulfur lightening, a towering block of green and silver
e-waste serves as a sentinel. I rise up over the Earth and everywhere is
brown and rust and gray and destruction, covered, completely chewed up,
so much human waste, there is no room for humanity. And a tiny pocket,
like an oasis, a tremendous and terrible relief of greens in a stark and
vast canvas of grays. Trees. The exception of a gathering of trees. And
blues, and earth. What a dream. A parasite is unsuccessful if it kills
the host.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Lion
I am a man, he said.
A great lion of gentle laughter.
My hands carry the ages.
Two rocks, like lovers
Lifted over dawn's dreaming.
You see me.
There is no longing.
Only fire.
A great lion of gentle laughter.
My hands carry the ages.
Two rocks, like lovers
Lifted over dawn's dreaming.
You see me.
There is no longing.
Only fire.
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