March 16, 2013

tingle, tangle too...

Joe Coleman’s Odditorium photo by Mark Berry ©

the torrid mass spectrometry of Easter madness
why does this world bleed
carving empty color for eggs
why does this world need
the march hares of misguided men
why does this world heed
the short fix of roofs
the bone houses leaning
toward burst and contraction

what is it I seek beyond words
beyond the blink of an eye
past information spat spittle fried
I can look out any window and see
teleprompters, spoken wheels
deals broken brokered
back alley abortions
and popular mechanisms
turned slow killing machines

I am that cartooned poet
daffy and loony
a smiled harlequinade
free to live mistakenly
away from all my friends 

I say to myself
sue me mirror
your opinions
are not family
I say I have no
brothers and sisters
to spare me a dime
and no I don’t mean ten cents
I mean something
I can get high with
something I can escape with
something with velocity
something that rips apart
the ripe of my skin

I realized
I left the television on
when I came back from
the supermarket
I heard it say
there are no houses
you can hide in, Edward
wherever I am, you are

every end will begin
your corpse petal erode
the mother lode of milk
waits wormed in salvation hymnals

so I shoot rubber bands
against the wall
pretending I bounce back
from the noise in my vision
over a trampled forest floor

the paper stairways to heaven
are what I want to rot with
as candy wrapper soles
say give me more of everything
that is bad for survival
and if by chance we live
past the night
we will beg, with you
for something else to ride
into the light


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