Saturday

Wars And Rumors Of

Hunched like dogs mid-shit,
faces flooded contusion blue,
we quiver before the corpse-lights;
slaver over designer drones whose digital tongues
flap static louder than our intellects-

they spew sang-froid emesis
across the collective floor,
stroke our heads, pat our asses by invitation;
they sing us lies and lullabies but
we know the ice age cometh:

it taps a salvo against the convex eye,
puts an antedate ear to our bowels and
listens to the rumblings within.

6 comments:

Just Amazed said...

I don’t know who you are. Your poetry is frighteningly honest. If your day job is anything other than writing poetry or prose, you’re wasting your time and your talent. This blog contains some of the finest poetry/writing I’ve come across on the internet or in books.

Hippie Craque said...

women and children first... I dig the agonist myself

Maria said...

Really great stuff.

floots said...

knocked out by words and pix
i'll be back
thanks for the visit

camera shy said...

great work yet again

love the photos too

so much to see
so little time

With Hammer And Tong...The LetterShaper said...

Damn...Thank you, everyone, for the comments. I am stunned and honored by your presence here...