Sunday, January 25, 2015

theme here seems to be my own paranoia

oh, america how have I gone
this far into the cold night
of darkness
locked away in my room,
watching past orange lights
and silver spiked crown
at your pentagonal heart?

Where do I go from here
slipping through your
varicose veins mucous
dripping dried up white
blood cells waiting from
recycled heavy and war torn
overblown hero stories of
imperial empire anguish?

ah, oh, I am just one flicker in
the star scarred sky,
a falling streak of light
struck by a shadow,
never was or here or going
which-way any way,
but out out Out

ah, longing for that voice
on the page, hoarse and
mumbling and calling,
I'll be patient, still as
skeletons of old dead white
bones, faded to grey dust
scattered like poems
as ashes on western wind

No comments:

Post a Comment