Archive for September 14th, 2011
Rattled Orange
That orange man.
His headlight, bright, behind me.
His bad ass.
I yield
to his megalomaniacal pathway.
He has his five-digit number,
big and black on his massive orange.
His tattoos are funny,
stretched by muscle-building,
but prison isn’t funny.
He’d pick me up, one hand,
squashing my midsection,
and he’d laugh as the white worms
squirt out my nose and ears.
But orange man couldn’t take my prison.
Sure, he survived Leavenworth,
and now he rattles civilians,
but my prison would flatten him,
him and motorcycle, no thicker
than a Costco catalogue,
and best for us, before he’s flat,
in my prison, we long
for someone to kill us.
Silent Death Befriends the Stormy Bureau
Emptiness sneaks in
under the door.
All should be fine
in a bluish cool office.
There are swarms,
hundreds of keyboards
being hammered
by wicked digits.
Then the jazzy ticking
from an oil drum
near the river bottom,
calling for complete change.
And the air conditioning
is a southern storm
with tornadoes
and no sirens.
My Blanket Has Announced Its Return
An inconsequential flock of geese
came by to tell me it’s coming.
I love fall but I hate
the heavy, wet, wool blanket.
Not as graceful as the geese
and desirous of destruction,
my blanket wants me gone.
Forever. Into nothingness.
This morning, I swim inside
forests and above warm hills,
feeling a part of it all,
not failing, but then
there is that one human who tells me,
who cages me and hangs me
out to dry so all the beasts can feed,
and I am gone.
I try to come back.
I try to survive,
but I’m made wrong,
and I drown
in the hatred of the beasts.
stillfugue 