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since it's slow...a poem!
Hey fellow listee's,
never dropped a poem on y'all before so I don't know if it's proper but I
figured since it's slow I'd give it a whirl. New and strange and probably
will suffer a few more revisions but here ya go anyway:
Angel Droppings
Devolving spirals pull down flesh homes
sharing brief impressionist nightmares with the crowd
before blending all panderist black.
A once human landscape of Constable grandeur
turned Warhol advert by the pummel of
low-baked half land dreams.
Watch dogs on dawns ledge
snatch up stray splatter
childishly spitting Pollock patterns
on the days virgin tears.
"Simplify simplify" I heard a voice cry,
rather a sneer from low down low
"How can you see art in this chaotic world,
where even Venus has lost her form and curl?"
Oh where the morning
where the new song?
why are angel wings always
tipped in dead lovers blood?
Where the heart that opens tears?
like babies feet
like mothers hair.
Where in the world
Where on the way
do we exchange this crumbling dark
this...tangental grace-
for the gravity of peace
the slingshot of love
the grasslands heart
the consummate home.
***
Deep in the fallen earth
cell mates play freedom games
while drinking liquid air
passed to them through the chain link.
They scratch each other
like primates do
while pontificating on the value
of Big Bird vs. Dr Seuss.
Deluded by oblivion
secluded by the prison wall
and openly derisive
to each others particular call.
***
Ivory fingers hold the key
to loose light heaven's voice
into that fenced and fatal land
where only dead rejoice.
Like songbirds on barb wire perch
still sing so sweet and strong
so too could the heart of man
breath life from iron lungs.
But wild wood is dangerous
mysterious coyote wide.
Deep as other, steep as sun,
best keep within boundary lines
***
Who thinks the ghetto needs a little dirt
to cover up the scum?
Maybe a freshly coat of paint
will do to hide the smell.
When Jimmy plays with razor blades
Will Lisa get the pain?
If Johnny shoots his foot right off
will I have to take the blame?
And what of that innocent native
who never heard of Christ?
And if pigs had wings would they leave the slop
or flip crud high on high?
And when the ladder is set up
and fresh rain fills the air,
from our runting will we look
and climb on outta here?
***
Ghettolings await hopes lifting breeze
to greet sweet deep with full embrace.
Jump start sparks shake black line feet
into wire dance but not... to flight.
Echoes of former days spit up their tales
like little gifts fashioned from emperor rags.
Naked thoughts cut, fragment into sharp wreckage
spilled across alien gray landscape.
The birth of night creates a dawn parapet.
Kevin j Hopp (Spring 2000)
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