These Streets Part II

These Streets Part II

A Poem by Perdition

It was as goldenrod to a suburban day

the all masked busy minds stopping in for a try

I set down the blue kettle hearing instead the screeching knot of bus steel

my rattling attention clustered in the bloodstream, six a.m.

 

does it always happen this way?

the day churns to dividends and then 

to froth, wide gaped mouths fighting against the clock

white crude graffiti embellishing the unbleached brain

“This city is changing”, she chirps with concern

her old school voice filling my pockets in pain 

but therein lies the work and shall be done

 

Sipping on smoke I tear a little spark

an effervescent insidious howl of an unholy ritual

my temper again begins to speak

 

another hour shivers down to a f*****g squeal

I am floating through the glass bottom cage

O great eternal ashtray

floating high over the Brooklyn mist

I take another belly full of smoke

returning back to answers

 

another time, another place and maybe we’d all be friends

drive the hubris valley like a billion old rags

a beggar’s canyon is all we’d need

leave these shivering day-showered bones to the monsters

rattle away in an ole corvette

 

from the hidden miles of kitchen she asks me about the war in old Nebraska, the wheat fields where it rains the farmer’s daughter’s dress from death till dawn, I still remember and whisper when the burning lamp gets low

I gratify her rifling with a snippet

 

Again the bell jar rings and I begin to breach my filtering arm

bubbled clouds with mini intuition and the constancy of yin slash yang

the unseen operator squeezes me down to an unspoken philosophy

holding the poor man to the park

the best that I can do is die

as the rich ignite him by

and in finality comes a rupturing thought

and I know he’ll hear this knocking

“we are all here as all but one” I swim into the maudlin portrait

a smile from the ghosts as well as they can try

as I wonder where all the goldenrods have gone

© 2019 Perdition


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"the bell jar rings"
swimming into the maudlin portrait....all sort of plathian...
in a way....but also i love the contrasts here of country and city...especially since i spent my first nine years in the Bronx....but also spent those summers in Vermont...away from all of that...listening to birds and foxes and cows, not taxis, buses and subways...
and moved to Southern Illinois to be with the goldenrods...
forever.
excellent piece.
j.

Posted 3 Weeks Ago


Perdition

3 Weeks Ago

Sounds like perfect soil for a poet..
..Thanks j.

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Added on November 15, 2019
Last Updated on November 15, 2019

Author

Perdition
Perdition

Sometimes, VA



About
Writing is a way for me to transcend the edges around the edges of transcendence; if you catch my drift. Thank you for your wonderful reviews and please forgive me if I sometimes fail to do the same .. more..

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