Page 20 of 39
Formidable enemies with intentions so unclear.
I am forced to sit down, to listen and respect
Their unceremonious chatter and values they reject.
One wears a halo, glowing like the future:
White robes, golden smile — heavenly composure.
This one’s got vows and rules that I must follow:
Ways of ensuring that I have a tomorrow.
my soul is floating far
The ghosts, my mind created
were the brakes that I hated
It is not important where I am
but it is crucial who I am
It does not matter what I’ve seen
I was blind anyway
Time and beauty are flying away.
Life is an opportunity,
O life is not a chance anyway!
Your own beauty exploration
Had outside blissfulness of marriage
Lures men to love exploration
Of you until you reach your vile age.
Your readiness is what matter.
Marriage is honorable in all
Plenty money does not matter.
Make sure you don’t waste time at all.
And wrote a line or two,
Then read aloud his magic words
To mould the world anew.
A Painter heard the Poet’s words,
Then took his golden brush,
To paint the world alive again,
Down to the river’s rush.
Beauty in motion,
A loyal partner,
An honest friend.
A portrait in disguise.
Manes like cascading water
Tails proud, silky banners
Coats shimmer in the morning sun
Muscles ripple beneath slick pelts.
at the Capitol Drive-In.
The VW’s black vinyl
stuck to the backs of my thighs.
I sat in the passenger seat,
a habit from when I was little.
There was a smell
I hoped my parents wouldn’t notice.
I was allowed to hang
the heavy speaker on
my half rolled down window,
to control the volume.
We brought our own cans
of pop in a cooler stashed
on the floorboards.
Slunk low during the trailers,
Dad reached through
the bucket seats into
a bowl of popcorn from home
balanced on the parking brake.
I live another day,
adding to the potential years,
of a life well lived,
so they say.
In the shadow of yesterday?
Will they say this upon the grave?
Yet, that which was lost yesterday,
can be regained tomorrow,
again, so they say.
Do I understand?
Where is today?
The choice lays within,
the question mark of a new day.
That’s the chore,
That’s why so many therapists
And DFS coaches are in well-paid jobs.
It’s the not thinking
About a rape by a victim,
And the not thinking
Of a stranger’s greasy hands
All over your front hall.
Knowing that nothing in your life is real?
The world, and you, are just so fake,
How does it feel to be something that you hate?
Wake up and dread your existence,
(I know you do)
Burn all bridges to create some distance,
(Life’s hard to get through)
The whereabouts of your mind are anybody’s guess,
Wearing nothing but a smile, you look so well dressed.
Of populous populations,
Supply is often halted beyond the womb
And should a child make it
To the densely packed production line,
There are no lifetime guarantees
No best before, or after birthday dates
Supply outcries demand.
But demand increases should you move
Within the factory floor,
Be placed onto the packaged line
“First World”
Or stamped and wrapped:
“For Family Wealth”
