here, in Atlanta
amongst the cities misery
are the lost, the dysfunctional
those wrinkled and smelly
the young and mindless
those who played drums
in fields of flowers budding
those who've listened to
the voices
of promise
those that said: "Follow
me."
those always being led too
to wait.
She is here
fixing, thinking, watching
coached too
by conditioning
under wire brush hair
inside those pouting lips
and
skin
so dark.
Inside the square
behind the polished sand
her children
show her the way.
Obtusely she asks
"Would you drive, all this
way for
narcotics?" This mind tells
her
"Can we dispense the professional
bigotry?
Can we find a balanced medium
from our past, from this
pain?
Can we drive
farther than
all this monotony
this narcotic?
Fix the fuckin' solution."
Silence
Drinking Java
Staring into
Asymmetry of
Pallor turning
To
Relics as
Redolence rises
Illuminating
This mind
This one that prepares
For the crossing
Taking that
Which is needed
And leaving the rest to
Ruin by
Derision.
... The breath
Spent to wind
Is mixed and is
Gone.
Unattainable now.
It's all dew
Due to time
And
Me.
(please excuse me)
for my thoughts on God
and Hell
for belching
and farting
for saying that your breasts
are soft
for this pissing
in the wind
while holding my dick just so
-for drinking my way
into odious insanities of
self preservation
excuse me
for my doubting
your timeless persecutions
those judgmental rewards that ream
for me not understanding
your antiquated ways of
conditioned moralistic turpitude
those so hell-bent
on diversifying
my imagination
excuse these artistic renditions
of realism and
my obvious disenchantment
with authority
in this world
the past has created
for saying...
fuck you
as often as there's a need.
....MORE TO FOLLOW