Listening to syncopated
Stratagems from diagrams
Of a successful junkie
Now lost in
A funhouse mirror maze
Not too unfamiliar
To those with a different
Kind of addiction.
Whispers echo like
Claps of thunder that
Startle the deaf,
Origins known but ignored
By arrogant corpses
Who are passed over
By buzzards with upturned
Beaks, too proud, but not full.
Something inside is still alive
And quick to bury
And clean to make room
For a second coming of some
Nature or another
That appears a bit more haggard
Than previous incarnations
But infinitely wiser.
Impudent, yet not youthful,
Striking forward with
Pickaxe into existential mines
That produce coal that
Cannot burn,
Wasting what precious time
He has that could be distilled
And wasted some other way.
Composed 10/03/2012
Author’s Note: I’m not sure what inspired this one, to be honest. I think it had to do with watching my students, or the children in my city in general. Early Halloween inspiration, perhaps?
Previous Posts
Next Posts
35 Years of Mining in Erdenet (Prose)
Outside it is Raining (Poetry)
Two Second Street 