this a real game.
nothing artificial left.
like reality.
sweet the night
the night is warm like
dark treacle’s affination.
less pure but sweeter.
the sadness will last forever
the sadness will last forever
from feverish lips
to fraternal ears.
in a heart of darkness
where the monsters dwell
a drowning man
in a well of sadness.
swirls of sunny skies
and blue tears of nightly stars.
fields of yellow grass
and feldgrau green trees
sentinel and stoic
though they wave, don’t they?
piercing eyes
staring through glassy blue mirrors
and glimpse of the tremors
from prussian blue
or the terrors
from more mental livid hues.
you paid your dues
they took a pound of flesh
and an ear too.
thank god for your fingers
and your eyes to see.
you’ve changed the view
and been a friend to me.
petals bleeding
a green tinged flower
kissed by happy yellow bees.
petals bleeding off.
uphill battle
up on the hill
the little rectangular houses
with the big open eyes.
i see inside.
the lives of the lost
and the limited.
speeding on ribbons
black as the prophet’s heart.
profit prophet.
a toddler
with a brown nappy.
a mother
with pink hair rollers
and a cigarette
yellow filtered
a gray specter
smelling her hair.
these are the days
of others’ lives.
the ones not counted
the promised land
nothing but lies
and shit eating flies.
the old buick.
the man in a suit.
the five o’clock stubble
his health
in disrepute.
i see them.
i see the shame
in the eyes of the poor.
we know who to blame.
the rich.
flush them down
watch the circling drain.
all the gain
ill begotten
from a rigged game.
content meant
if i were stoic
i wouldn’t write these poems.
content in the now.