glasses change everything

fuzzy hope and fluffy animals
mate and multiply and promise a spring
consisting dirt and not mud.
pink flowers instead of dandelions,
and bird song instead of crabgrass
growing larger by the instant.

i would be in need of a
splinter-free chainsaw,
and those are hard to find.




but you show me that i need glasses,
and once i can see the concrete,
there's nothing left,
but ugly beams
and rusting pipes
built a top each other
in hopes of reaching the last bits of
oxygen from the surface.

higher is your only bet for sunlight.




crooked smiles
with metal teeth
leer down from authoritative faces,

how am i supposed to follow someone
who needs an invasive oil change
every week or so?

Reviews

[Murtuza]

I like the connection between the poem and the title. A really interesting piece. Nice job :)