Zheng Gu Shui

Vic has inspired me to write some broken poetry. Check out his blog if you get the chance (on the right side with the links). Just a few contemplations from the past week…

Dead Bird Blues:

A gentle flap, then a glide

so graceful, cutting through the thick haze

cool as a cucumber, ice veins pulsing

beak curves into a smirk, it cannot rid the crescent shape

the toothed arrow is quicker, anticipates every feather’s move

quickly it punctures the breast, a puff silences the horns

dead stop and a fall from grace, hoping dashed haze will cushion the fall

to no avail, only hard concrete and soft rubber tires

not soft enough though

the beak rolls to the gutter, still smirking

 

7th Avenue

Steps echo as heels clip the concrete

Rats wake me from a beautiful slumber, they gnaw at my sneakers

Bastards

 

The cave-like existence is swell

Amarous only towards those who lick crumbs from their beards

Malodorous? Me!?

This is what a real man smells like

Dirt. Sweat. Urine. Dust. Tears. Booze.

 

Body is swelling in this seat, wooden nursery school box

Does the MTA try and make them uncomfortable?

Spit lands on Armani shoes

Sorry? Watch where you’re stepping, man

 

The long lost breeze twirls newspaper into an avant garde dance

E and B come at the same time, a lover’s waltz

Must be rush hour again

 

Alert, Nunavut

Up, up, up

Past the snow and grass

Only grey skies and quick clouds visit the compound

The wind speaks in an alien tongue, unsure of its predictable mood swings

Skin is never caressed, only bitten by its lashing tongue

Ten minutes of sunlight break through the darkness

Hundred foot swells of gold wash over the jagged hills and rusting oil cans

Rays bathe the glistening permafrost, crunching lightly under the fox’s foot

It’s a long way down from here