Posts Tagged America 2017
America 2017, #11
bending bridges and
my friend of
your loss of all that was good,
and come back full brown.
Carl’s amateur dystopian photography – Fort Smith, Arkansas
America 2017, #7 & #8, Dead Factories Freezing My Worn Guts
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on March 2, 2017
These are not
the silly unem-
fear of dying stark-
ly alone, alone.
More Dystopia Today from Amateur Carl
America 2017, #6 — One Day I Was in the Old West in the Middle of An Abandoned Street
There is park-
ing in the rear, but
streets are emp-
at me to stop short of life,
watch her wander by.
Another Dystopia Today picture from amateur Carl.
America 2017, #5, “My Dedication to the Good Failed Too Many times”
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 28, 2017
They warned me —
Behave, man, do not
scream at the
drunks when you’re
drunk, maintain your head, or we’ll
paint and board you up.
America 2017, #4 – Cackling Steeples
laughing at insanity,
squashing my tiny mind.
More Dystopia Today from Carl the Amateur.
Another Day, When After the Fireworks, I Knew I Was Worthless
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 25, 2017
You looked through
the windows blocking
my soul, tres-
olating love, wiping the
thought, trashing heaven.
Not-so-dystopian today, amateur Carl’s repossessed America. America 2017 #3.
America 2017, #2, Digging Empty Channels
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 24, 2017
When the cre-
vice maims my confi-
dence, and ti-
ny beasts crawl,
raging against my peaceful
love, shadows kill me.
More Dystopia Today from Carl the Amateur
I Try Not to Slip Away from Who I Want to Be
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 23, 2017
We fixed you,
made you modern.
What would the windows do
when you have aluminum?
And lines, old lines, tan split by old,
above-ground lines, split by a
telephone pole, hand-carved sitting
by the door that would not allow you in
unless you showed your whole face
in the tiny box.
Oh but we opened a nice front
on the side and more aluminum
and now there are sadly-ripped papers
glued and taped to that window,
that door and the painting
on the window
look so stale, as if to be dead.
We gave you plenty of spots
but you sit there with
empty slices of bored, and
waiting for action,
the brightness of the energy
we need. And then,
would you watch that concrete
on the front?
Did we fix you, old man, or what?
No more curves or gaps or carvings.
We gave you 50s slab,
and if you don’t like it,
bang your head against that slithery, slimy wall.
until you bleed,
and the aluminum
laughs at you again and again.