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Archive for March 2nd, 2011

Kill the Stink, My Ass

 

You say, “Sunshine kills the stink of corruption.”
“Bullshit,” I say,
because I see the scoundrels
crawl into the tiniest mold in the most diseased
grass and proceed to live virulently. We need you,
but you should gain humility, understanding
that it appears that god is sending more thugs
than the good guys could possibly lock up. You
should go back to your street, get back to work,
and understand that you are not in charge
of sunshine, the world is very stinky, and even
God’s sun has done little to stop that. Your claim
of victory looks silly next to humanity’s battlefield.

 

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Tossed to Hazards II

Being tossed in the alleyway,
staggering on cobble stones
and dirty walls that hover over me
as overripe apple trees,
while the bulls are massed
and speed toward me, a beaten man
with no spirit, grains of soul,
but I find the crevices.
I hide.
You cannot keep score.

 

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Tossed to Hazards I

 

Bifocal Univision's Monday Photo Prompt - Hines Drive

 

Tossed to Hazards I

Smoothly avoiding hazards
but riding through teeth,
being chewed by metals
and convoluted by pliers.

Old, but not as wise,
nor deft, nor masterful as I wish.
Nor as skillful, nor as talented,
nor as well-drilled as you would like.

The hazards make me frail,
make par a separate universe.
Every day brings new ones,
viruses spreading visually
from bedlam in New York.

Humans, centered on commerce,
like bees stinging my eyelids,
humming, trampling like bulls,
and I, trapped, as in sand
or drowning in floods,
and none can ride safely with me
under gleaming surfaces of waters
with nothing but poles and chains
marking my likely penalties.

 

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This is my response to Eric’s Monday Photo Prompt.

Evelyn did her homework and conned the judge  – Check it out.

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Lost Playgrounds

Open your gate for me.
I’ve brought my baskets.
I see your tingling feathers,
feel the buzz of your grip,
offering melons and trophies.

I don’t deserve your soft swings,
you, desperate to see me.

Open your gate for me.
Watch me drift in oils,
down your onyx and ash,
that smooth front that
makes my nose rest deeply,
and sinking clenches of your toes
shooting me through canals of honey,
while floating with purple bicycles,
holding on to your kite,
your most valued treasure,
watching you eat cookies
that change contours
with light from eyes you use
to make me soar
with your heart into hidden
gloves for carrying suitcases
for gods who create purest joy.

Open your gate for me.
Play with me and soothe me.

 

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