Girl wonder
and crowbar magnets
strip the skylark orpheus
down to the fleshed bone.
Those three stripes
on saturday night whites
flash and pout
croon and smolder
awe and shudder
in the stagnant stage
pond of his thought.
This large red stripe
and frown
are mine.
A lot of nothing
is going down
and time drains
while our
little prince
goes contrapposto
and waits for the wind
to blow something to say
into his sheep-eyed brain.
They wanted Barabas.
They wanted Charles Ponzi.
They wanted cultural revolution
and they want
those three stripes.
They will take him
down the slender path
tearing his bright blue jeans
and shredding the ligaments
of his regal ignorance
until his black currant blood
clots in the lungs
of the harbor island soil.
3 comments:
They want so much, everything.
Everything is impossible.
I like your words.
They do, don't they? Everything that goes up can never come down. Thanks, SusuP.
Everything is impossible. We are everything every moment and simultaneously nothing. Always in process, always in flux. No one can give everything; besides, we got to keep a little something for ourselves, don't we?
I do.
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