Sometimes I write poetry:
(Still Born)
Today her eyes are glistening with wet,
I can hear the revolution of her body,
And I know that all is well; although anticipation
Seems to break this thought of mine.
No sense in feeling emotion,
This scene seems so familiar,
Her body pulses and struggles to maintain
This necessary cycle,
It’s not her fault that we must pull him out with chains.
All is well for now.
Morning fades into focus,
A different picture now,
Her boy is licking fallen milk,
And her eyes are covered in flies.
(Graveyard)
Prismatic peaks fall face down into laps,
And scan the sandy floor.
All the trash that’s left for archaeologists to discover,
Is drowned by darkness and space.
Only the blue born sky sees each white capped hood
For what it really is.
A tombstone.
"Driving down N.Broad St./A fight broke out/
Hit as hard as you can
motherfucker/get up/run
away in glory/leave your
brother to nurse
(inner bruising)/watching
it all from the idle passenger
seat, affected, thinking things
through for miles."
There's more where that came from...
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