Abandoned
I see
The sun setting against sherbet skies.
Coins lying still beneath burnt bent poles.
And
Untrimmed town trees protruding from
potting plant cars, while
Plastic jellyfish float through boulevards
Busy no more, as
They become barb wire windsocks
Waving me on,
Dispersing against winds that sway the
Dilapidated and rusted road signs
Of a long and lost age. There are
Vines veined on vacant constructions,
Wiggling up what were once working
Walls within a vast metropolis. Their
Cement decays and crumbles, letting
Creatures cloak within the crevices.
Visible spectrums are sheening on
Puddles of pollution.
I am waiting and watching, wondering.
Vast expanses echo with the song of the
Sparrow,
Or the placating coo of the pigeons.
And,
I see
Alongside sun-bleached skeleton skulls
Brass shells shine on weed cracked
Sidewalks.
Fruit
By day, he works the field
Never ever, does the work seem to yield
But by night, he defends the plum tree
From people like you, not me
Within the commune it grows
The triage of this co-op farm surely bestows
His back is sore, his hands are soiled
A days work and no spoils
Down the well trodden dirt road
And how does he bode?
Getting by, getting by
Watch the sparrow fly
He walks back home
His hands might still be covered in loam
Passing the hives and rows of dusty leaves
He thinks, Where are all the bees?
Gone, they say, Even the queen
No food! Everyone will be so lean
Dusk kisses the land
Tonight he makes his stand
By day he works the field
Never ever, does the work seem to yield
But by night, he defends the plum tree
From people like you, not me
On the old broken down porch
Holding that fiery torch
With vagrants abound
His wits are ever so sound
Pink flesh caresses purple flesh
On the branch so fresh
His gun shoots, just in time someone ducked
But no fruit is plucked
Two tilted eyes give no permission
'Grow your own tree!' Correct was the farmer's suspicion
Yells! Bells!
'Yeah', he says, 'you better run like hells'
He sits back down in his wicker chair
Still giving his tree a steady stare
'Not my plum!'
'I'm the one with the green thumb!'
By day he works the fields
Never ever, does the work seem to yield
But by night he defends the plum tree
From people like you, not me
Gone
Oh penetrated sphere of greatness spasm and spill your sludge
Wail, burst and cry out
and we shall do the same
We are but a sawdust circus
puking miasma
Giving nothing
yet taking everything
Unprecedented tempest of entropy you come
False courtesies given
Empty promises of ailments cured
Gaping chasms gored and garroted,
swallowed lies.
This undefeatable army of sex crazed bunnies
fucking into the night
Spouting ethics like crows picking boogers on slackened wires,
Nay, dodos flying straight into evolution
Naked animals,
Shaved beasts with asses raised,
heads sunk in corporate troughs
Feeding on detritus,
veiled by an era of discontent
A generation cowed and demented by glowing boxes
Pot-bellied skeletons fade away
Tales of ephemeral futures
void of all thought
Wilted and dried up cunt
Miscarriage of humankind
