Grandmothers window; Gods summer; Archpoeta

Polyvinvl chloride filled leaf drained tepid mother nature, as the porcelain cask that so restraints my iuvenus body is filled with healing wax ortus from jojoba oil in foreign hands. 

Vines with no intellectually beautiful name or divine purpose climbing the corporate store bought trellis, safely harboring season soaked acrylic cushions. 

Poorly plotted plants placed by aged pessimistic palms praying for plentiful youth as palpable as water pouring from her poorly placed garden hose. 

Everything sun aged and over used, this retired grandmother's safe haven is serenity infested with loud angry children demanding artificial dye flavored everything.

/ 

You can always tell it's summer in America when all the old cars come out to spin their rich cleansed engines that are older than the owner. 

Smooth red flesh sparkling in the new risen sun, flaying the dew from last nights gentle April shower. 

It takes your whole life to become successful enough to own a car more valuable than you. 

Eighteen year old daddy issued girls winking at the wrinkled sugar grandpa turning into the free car wash, even though his red fleshed convertible is flawless like he imagines the under garments of the christian girls rubbing their innocent bodies all over his wet dripping mustang. 

The true American dream of never becoming undesirable to anyone because how much you are worth in the eyes of tax collectors. 

You are government property able to take home naive desperate girls and do what America does to the lower class. 

Venery on display, displacing chaste in the 21st century tawdry Pavia. 

Three ex-wives and four daughters that hate you because the superficial relationship you built with money; you visit exotic places and kill fenced in endangered species for a new piece of home decor. 

You treat each restaurant like you treat your wife in the kitchen or after too much barrel aged scotch on the rocks you and your golf buddies purchased a rare bottle of. 

Freedom has made you fat and worthless.

/

I was raised around people who stopped chasing their dreams a long time before they could teach me about chasing mine. 

So I chased snakes and frogs instead, read instructions for new toys in place of books. 

Rubbed new skin off on old sandpaper shed, even when told "too much weight and it'll cave in". 

Held firecrackers too long instead of learning patience, lost a lot of blood thinking I was figuring out to be fearless. 

Made a lot of oxygen dissipate into nothing, when harming trees and plants because I didn't understand. 

I didn't understand that I would be responsible for my own education because I couldn't rely on anyone to make sure I paid attention. 

I didn't comprehend the complexity of mental growth that separated the youthful joy from the compelling indifference that would ultimately determine my life. 

Paths like the nameless vines climbing my grandmothers trellis, because I have yet to announce my passions so boldly to score a permanent position. 

I am nothing but locust wings rubbing vigorously together in a sand storm that is everyone else talking. 

Just another wanna be Bukowski using indirect calculations to manipulate a vocabulary so widely known, to be unknown because I want to be mysterious. 

Unique word placement like that of lions dens in public zoos, far from prey but close to similar predators. 

Just like home, competitive against the wrong food chain because I am not a better bull rider but I am a better story teller. 

I am not a hunter but I shot dinner for my family with a punch card. 

I cannot rope a calf but I can carry ten thousand transient pounds on my back. 

I don't have ma and pa's money but my ten cents is worth more because I earned, burned and turned it into sore muscles, bad back and crooked spine dimes, but its all still mine. 

Though I can't mine I mind my own, time filtered like safe water in a vacant home. 

I will not be sugar grandpa cruising hairless in the wind with a plastic smile screaming "I win be cause money never dies". 

I will be the forever starving artist arguing with modern politicians that my career choice is just as important as a former coroners drawing art around the body of a passing soul. 

I am forever alone because my art is all that I know; I am sapient because the archpoeta died unknown for this type of levity indignation. 

-addisone

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Read this once, read it again, read it aloud.. and glad i did, though it kicks the reader in the guts at times. You really rip out your heart, saying what you think and i suspect what's more than true in a certain country miles from mine. But then, the sights and thoughts you quote could be echoed in variables around the world. Now and again, a sadness slides in and out as if trying to hide unsuccessfully, ' .. position. I am nothing but locust wings rubbing vigorously together in a sand storm that is everyone else talking. '

However, more of your style: punchy, raw, more than capable of describing an attitude of mind dictated to by past hardship and undoubted knowledge of how this world works,('sweat like a donkey, salivate like a race-horse') - little or no choice, depends on your eventual address. '.. I will not be sugar grandpa cruising hairless in the wind with a plastic smile screaming "I win be cause money never dies".

More people should read this... yes, is a trip and a half but, very worthy reading.

[addisone]

Great review! I appreciate the feedback. Strangely, I have never heard that term before about the donkey ha. I definitely enjoyed that. Feel free to share it if you'd like, I will probably do some revising because I was just quickly trying to get it up for irrelevant reasons.

[Coyote Poetry]

This is amazing words and story. I had to read twice and I will add to my favorites.
"I was raised around people who stopped chasing their dreams a long time before they could teach me about chasing mine.
So I chased snakes and frogs instead, read instructions for new toys in place of books. "
The above lines were my favorite and so damn true. How do us dead in dreams teach the young to dream? Thank you Addisone for sharing your amazing words and thoughts. I liked them.
Coyote