miracle
at ground level
where the sense of smell is your best ally.
where the twitching in and behind your ears, the slight coldness and tightness of cheeks are telling you something - hint of pleasure, edge of danger.
knowing you are here... now.
and that's all you ever are
feeling the air drop heavy and cold, the gusts fly in
the glass cages rolling by in packs. blind beasts on rusted rounds and tattered meats, some on shiny 24's.
there ain't no such thing as a free lunch and nowaday no free water neither
hoofin' it
130 miles and further more
feet still get you moving but there's no damn place to go
'cept here n now.
Yo Mama tasted good.
She said to tell you, "bring home milk".
Comments
(a bit of poetry in response to this poetry and I guess kindof your last entry as well)
I dreamed of you last night
and I don't hate you anymore
for offering something that you didn't have
the lord that thinks to float above
screaming transcendance and protection
never had it.
was the softest of them all.
and, we live in a time where people kill their gods
we think they are solid so we pound against us
and in their dust that still floats there
they trade chaos for normalcy
their now solid mumified new forms
a TV
a carpet bleached clean
and the promise to die in our sleep.
Posted by: ... | April 16, 2007 11:30 AM
um, so how bout those nine-ers...
Posted by: fur burger | April 23, 2007 03:21 PM