poets and writersOct 29th, 2012 | no responses
“Chariots of Fire” playing off
the back of a semi-truck
becomes more than a metaphor
for life after this neo heaven
gives its last call without
the help of stars lacking contracts.
Tonight I’ve danec slow
with topless women, ancient
couples and men who own
the irng but not the wife;
we hold each other with passiong
found in the bottom of us.
Our tongues are breathalysters
proecting us from mourning
sobriety. We inherit our new
debts like misplaced surfboards
found miles from water – clunky
and leaving fingertips stiff with wax.
We may not always wants crwods
full of eye patches, the overly simple
reminder that depth perception is never
20/20 and hindsight is best left
blinded by clearance rack fireworks.
M-80s with mismatched fuses
never explode i misshapen colors,
unharmonized notes. go ahead Mr. Piano
Men with old tattoos, we need
songs to forget our disposable camera
pictures with strangers.
from Recycle Suburbia (2008 Quercus Review Press)