Spikey

Say hello to Bohb D. Spikey
don't know if he has a soul
what's he yelling? I don't know
where's he pointing? shall we go?

What possessed him to create
this abstract-like anomaly
that pours forth from a tortured soul...
there you go, he has a soul.

Could he be an opera star
a traffic cop, in a bar
on a soapbox, in a pulpet
preaching love to hybrid cars?



I'll bet he voted for George Bush
just to spite us, because he could
sprung from a bizarre mind
captured there in plastered rhyme.

Let us dive into his mouth
seeking darkness, then come out
his hollow eyes, and then surprise
him- freezing him within that robe
freezing him in that pose
built of plain necessity
art-decisions, efficiency
a need to wander from the norm
that puts to use what is at hand
or in a bag, needing form...

So let's leave Spikey where he stands
an outgrowth of a troubled man
seeking that which we all know
radiates in after-glows...