Monday, September 05, 2005

depressed scales

there are eyes in glasses
one fierce one kind
beard like cut grass
hair roots are in the brain
growing wickedly
you must wash faucet handles
after he washes dishes

he poisons those who dread day
stealing with stained smile
teeth he can count on
his life is a museum of garbage
with a lethal bar inside
he comes from night
and goes back there
in darkness that frightens
cats scurry and grow furtive
dogs whimper

warts grow healthy and ugly
trying to imitate his vigor
no matter how fast they grow
they can not match his strength
when nice people grow ill
he gurgles in his dark bed
like a barrel filling up

he will never die
nor be ill
when he is gone
something dark
will have taken him
on best working broken wings
eyes in glasses will see
new place in need
of pain


Sue hardy-Dawson said...

There is something unwholesome something of the serial killer, it fasinates yet is cloying, taking me to strange places

Russell Ragsdale said...

Sorry to have taken you there, Sue! This is me being angry at life's injustice. It's the poetry of banging the wall with your fist.

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

I don't mind strange places it's good to go to them sometimes, after all a visualization done well has a beauty however dark it might be.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Sue! I'm glad you able to find something of value here! It is indeed a dark place without any appology for being what it is.