Filter

This building rumbles lowly

from its belly,

shoveling

shit, incessantly as oil,

minus the refining process—

can we adjust

the ever-rising heat

on our massive debt

fueled wish-list?

for active and patriotic

disenfranchisement,

uprooted matriarchs

sit quiet cloistered

in the  dark,

where the murderer

is locked inside

their heads,

and music keeps the ghosts away

fiending in the shadows

of the living room parlor

off the warbled foyer

that has nothing

on its eggshelled walls

with which to orient 

one’s self in space:

the broad range

of Texas white lines

on the highway,

stretching toward

that bigger Sun

fed on steak and greens,

reaching far

as the human eye

reckons to see,

past, shining before us,

a single light

cast from some figure’s face,

is a wind mill

motionless as a snake,

waiting on ratty deserts

to unwittingly ravage

like Bosnia:

the lowlife coffins

with too long names

that prowl the dirty night,

gleaning like guns,

dragging her by a fist-

full of matted hair,

and naked,

through the riddled streets all

bare bleeding is the night

that forgives not

the wareless wanderer

ensnared rabbit

in the grey wolf

council mounted

on high grizzly peak

of cratered communism,

to the ground dropped limply

and thups upon the pack dirt floor

that Mother sweeps

for pine needles,

and ghostly reminders

of things left for dead

in the annals of our damaged lobes,

poisoned, blotted blinks

in calligraphy

brain scan:

maps authoritative

response mechanisms,

Lou Gehrig, and alpha Rosie

of a different color,

an Emperor wasted

in another fairy tale

modeled after Hans

Christian Anderson,

masturbating

to stenographic receptions

of Emily Dickinson’s

lonely moaning

in her chambers,

the four-poster of dark wood

sitting in its white damask

aproned like a cherry

over its pit plum center,

hard as almond,

seeded in soil

over sand, over

complex granite

aqueducts—