Tag: poem

oxidia

your love is like sniffing glue in abandoned playgrounds
your love is like running thru hell with
		naked feet
your love is solving complicated math with broken fingers
		and broken toes 
400 million trillion blackholes in this universe
all of them in denver 
		all your accidents end
in denver, you’ve got asphalt and postcards in your pocket
you’ve got lilacs in your hair 
your love is playing with snakes 
you burn your candle from both ends and the middle 
you burn your candle like you hate candles 
		your love is like a puddle of gasoline
you can swallow your heart and start over  
your bullet holes are filled with black noise 
you can play a blue guitar
a heartbeat and a bruise, a heartbeat and a bruise  
                you can play a green tambourine 
you can play a goddess in a tight sweater and jeans on a mission
from heaven to find reason and ruin in a single drop of rain 
                you can play dumb 
heartbeat and a bruise, heartbeat and a bruise
love is a blue guitar you drag around by the neck
400 million trillion broken hearts in denver
                all of them yours 
you play dirty pool and you’ve got dice up your sleave
your laughter is clattering and witchy and itching all the right spots 
                but your soup is cold 
no one knows where you came from
your star name is papier-mache angel
your earth name is catastrophe spiral 
fate is a chimera 
		you are prodigy of chimera   
your eyes are haunted gloomy kamikazes
you drink kamikazes
you throw kamikazes at everything that gives you pain
your love is throwing side-eye at the world
                your love is a one-eyed horse in a snowstorm 
your love is like rust falling off a truck parked on the side of the road
		next to a junkyard
your love is like looking for a black cat in a dark room that
ran away years ago chasing blackbirds into blackholes in the
		darkness of denver
you love is something
		unspeakable
mythological 
		non-sequitur   
	more than
		and less than
	and other than
		true

posted for shay’s word garden word list

posted for the sunday muse

a butt-ugly rock dove sings a swansong

neighbor dave rakes his lawn from left to right, he combs the taller grasses over the thinner spots, grows his roses in military rows, parades them for his jealous neighbors 

he is a sculptor of blue juniper, his hedges clean and straight, he is a strict disciplinarian, his marigolds don’t cavort with dandelions 

he screams at the disobedient daffodils (if you won’t take the shape i make, then your just another weed!) he will not swoon a false swan 

me and the rock doves and ugly bugs perch on the crooked limb of a crooked tree, we watch him attack the earth with holy avenger garden tools, he alone decides what dies 

and what lives, and we, citizens of the vacant lot, the unpruned and unplucked, unloved by god, build from scratch with mud and luck, now we tremble when he stares at us   

we of the crooked tree can’t help but wonder, which way will he point his greenish thumb, up
or down?

posted for earthweal weekly challenge

the cosmic farmer’s fertilizer song

we were all anesthetized until we realized we were floating around on sugar boats, the sugar dissolved into a cold ocean swirl and we all fell in, baptized in some kind of cosmic kool-aid 

and the pain was real and the pain was right, and someone said “let there be light” someone flipped a switch and the world turned on

and it was all amusement parks and trailer parks and time clocks and argyle socks and artificially flavored pop-rocks and option stocks and noah’s arks, so we climbed aboard  

with curiosity we make a rudder, with imagination we make a sail, we discovered dry land and learned how to crash into it, we were happy landfill

it was a land of feral salad forks, it was a land of hubcaps, airplanes filled the sky like starlings migrating to heaven, people grew on trees and the kool-aid flowed like two percent milk

we sang gypsy blue jean rock-n-roll radio, we ate breakfast casserole, we goose-stepped in and out of combat boots, we glissaded up and down slippery slopes, it was a jubilee
 
of hyperbole, and all the people ate all the trees, we breathed our last breath of laughing gas and laughed ourselves to death, but it’s all good, it’s all understood

this world eats itself daily, it’s the cosmic farmer’s favorite song, hymnally of ecology, tidal waves wash our coffins back into the bigger picture, back into the sea, back into a bowl of milk

and sugar

posted for shay’s word garden

posted for d’verse open link

posted for poets and storytellers united