hey man, you've got some
kind of palm tree coming
out of your forehead.....
he says with his cheeks pursed
to hold in the smoke. he was there
all the time, from four in the morning
to four in the morning, huddled
cold on that ratted mattress
in the park by Avi's
in the rain—
there with me, eyes wild, always
through fight and flight
and so many helpless hours, caught
staring through the grass
and under the weight of the sky—
and she held him loosely, yes,
but only so that he could be free.
his loss was ours too. his father's
spittle arcing from his lips—
dirt on the walls—ceiling pierced
with the ice-realism of ten Palolo generations—
heavy truths for a boy, strung
together with yarn and laughter,
always fierce and separate.
nothing she could do for him
outside the softness
of her flesh.
i lick my palms
and try to forget....
all of us on acid,
giggling in the trees.
A contest entry
- YOU THINK YOU HAVE IMAGINATION??... Check this out! . Closes after 20 entries or 7 days by Roaddog Wolf.
1000 points, ended February 18, 2008, 8 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
this is so far out there and although the punctuation and stuff was really lacking, I (from a personal view), thought this was very appropriate for the prompt and, bottom line thought this was great, lol. thanks for the entry and good luck in the contest....
-
this is awesome. for real, great write! (maybe you'd get more reads if u put it on the reading list at the indie group site?)
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