THOUGHTS WRITTEN ON A CANYON MAP
DURING A COFFEE, BIDI AND PIECE
OF SOME KIND OF PRETTILY MADE BREAD
WHILE GAZING AT A HUMMER-COVERED PARKING LOT
AT A GENTRIFIED SUBURBAN REPUBLICAN BISTRO
I charted this course
with a red string
on a map of black chalk
The roads are many,
the final choice, new
I climb up the cafe canyon
walls to get a better view,
to see over the trees
and see my way to you
Having returned like Prometheus
to my city in pretty chains of light,
the rains have stopped like Porches
braking in the sun, which burns,
big and bright, drying this coffee stop
tabletop with its eviscerating truth
Gathering force, moving toward
the majestic and mysterious,
the merely merrily whimsical
snowcapped peaks of Ouray,
just a day away, as Latin horns
are piped through soccer moms
in sweatpants and motors purr
Is this city immune to war?
This cream of violence
rises to the top
For what they eat and taste
and buy and like,
they will not stop
Mechanized sweet, sweet soap,
the umbilical sword of the clean,
is the last potable hope
of water for the healing
and giving peace a hearing
And while the danceworld cult is searing,
I advance across an asphalt clearing:
In my heart, the key is just the start,
this language of escape
is now my art
Comment Wall (3 comments)
You need to be a member of ImpeachSpace to add comments!
Join this network
DURING A COFFEE, BIDI AND PIECE
OF SOME KIND OF PRETTILY MADE BREAD
WHILE GAZING AT A HUMMER-COVERED PARKING LOT
AT A GENTRIFIED SUBURBAN REPUBLICAN BISTRO
I charted this course
with a red string
on a map of black chalk
The roads are many,
the final choice, new
I climb up the cafe canyon
walls to get a better view,
to see over the trees
and see my way to you
Having returned like Prometheus
to my city in pretty chains of light,
the rains have stopped like Porches
braking in the sun, which burns,
big and bright, drying this coffee stop
tabletop with its eviscerating truth
Gathering force, moving toward
the majestic and mysterious,
the merely merrily whimsical
snowcapped peaks of Ouray,
just a day away, as Latin horns
are piped through soccer moms
in sweatpants and motors purr
Is this city immune to war?
This cream of violence
rises to the top
For what they eat and taste
and buy and like,
they will not stop
Mechanized sweet, sweet soap,
the umbilical sword of the clean,
is the last potable hope
of water for the healing
and giving peace a hearing
And while the danceworld cult is searing,
I advance across an asphalt clearing:
In my heart, the key is just the start,
this language of escape
is now my art
Support the Troops Impeach Bush-Cheney Air Show VA Beach
Oh well, I posted a reply in your forum.
Best,