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
Singapore Dreams 