The asphalt sticks like
powdered gum to bottles
that roll down avenues,
with fire scarfing
pavements flushed with
vomit and electric fog,
There are weak men
holding batons with
ribbons dipped in
the blood of those who
couldn't be born,
Their voices spill like
cheap liquor over a prostitute's bed,
Old men,who can hardly stand
carry infants of their vengeful sons
shouting and singing in one breath
that may be the only freedom left..
powdered gum to bottles
that roll down avenues,
with fire scarfing
pavements flushed with
vomit and electric fog,
There are weak men
holding batons with
ribbons dipped in
the blood of those who
couldn't be born,
Their voices spill like
cheap liquor over a prostitute's bed,
Old men,who can hardly stand
carry infants of their vengeful sons
shouting and singing in one breath
that may be the only freedom left..
Wow. Well I am sobered...as if I was not. I am lucid...as if I were not. I've been righted, but I am not sure of what wrong. Yet I feel wrong, as if I myself have done harm.
ReplyDeleteAnnie,
ReplyDeleteIt is right to feel wrong...If we have measured steps ....The consequences wouldnt be challenging to our sensibility(which was responsible in the first place)....the world has turned sour....Hence they hang heart shaped balloons wherever hungry dogs lick themselves...that is the sweetness we share now...mutually ofcourse....
beautifully written but it is the last line that brings the most sadness
ReplyDeletefor i fear it is true
rick,
ReplyDeletei feared that too...so i wrote it down...i can see it now...maybe face it...or more practically if i say ....accept it