@232.5:
formless such constructions first removals, thirst.
Albion thrust into the dust only the tips of breast
remain arrogant, savage dogs teeth glaring Lil
in the barroom bathroom stomach upturned grunting
a summer famine. inquest, the rolled eyes of a roller derby queen
capsized on a fat banker: Michael roll the bloat, ashore,
he says he got desensitized rolling burghers out the store
microminisized the coy breasts resist such lips;
The mange endures; frozen embryos tainted by semen
clickwise by atomic clock the regular fall of the proton
from the swan’s neck to the heavy water feathers fleeting
in the hot wind screaming through the blood red forest;
Momma didn’t leave no fools behind, or cures
for that matter as the days weep dawn sulphur and rocks hiss.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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You are on a sonnet role.
Momma is Gaia.
I'm glad you went with fat instead of the double bloated. Though indeed, we are as a society -- double bloated at least. and proton works good too.
This is about all that is and has been till now. It isn't for us really, it is for 100 years from now. Odd isn't it? To get the feeling you are reading something intended for the future and knowing -- they will get it.
Maybe that's a big part of what poetry is.
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inspiration cycles embryo spine
with murmurs of gravity and worn cell height
swan neck, ray checked
between methonic and moon knot
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The years roll constant, life becomes the pork barrel of monkeys set adrift between schisms of poverty and wealth and the next generation is bestowed the same and more. Kind of makes me wish there was a better alternative to death.
C
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