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
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
4 comments:
There is something unwholesome something of the serial killer, it fasinates yet is cloying, taking me to strange places
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.
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.
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.
Post a Comment