Well, I will once again be abandoning my post tomorrow's morn, so I figured I'd have a go at some p.m. poetry on Thor's day.
Garbage Pail Vision
Gazing at the garbage pail
I flail but fail to see
It's shadows.
Wholeness kept
Of Secrets wept,
And faces painted pale.
Knuckles white and gripping fast
Aghast I grasped but miss
The Picture.
Light the dark,
Revealing spark
I cannot See, I'm blind!
Leaning further, further down
But frown, the sound was false!
There's something
In the can
A Hallowed plan
I'll penetrate the gloom.
Darkness dancing lithe and black
Fall back from lack can't See
The formless
Flashing eyes
With hooded lies
Alight in the Abyss.
Leaping emptiness will out
To shout and spout the bliss
Of garbage--
Stinking peels
And toy-truck wheels
Are spelling out my fate.
Eye won't open, won't reveal
To steal or heal my hope--
It festers.
Patience lost
Encased in frost
Of bitter lessons learned.
Staring still am I at trash
Wet ash, a mash of truth
To slimy
For to hold,
Unless so bold
Are you to rise and know.
Thursday poetry appears to be less zany and more weird.
dan
p.s. Not to rag on my man the Cold Cowboy...but why don't you slap that chump Nader around and get him to send Socks some Marveldog story to work with?
If you are not the Cold Cowboy but you have some idea of what the above statement means, please report to the Principal's office immediately.
posted by dan @ 3:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home