Coming to HellI imagine this is what coming to Hell feels like.Coming to Hell
You can see it, off in the distance. A red fog against infinite black. A black darker then any you have seen.
For it is the unseen.
Past the hopeful lamps of the loud, shivering, school bus lies darkness, absolute.
But you can see it on the horizan. A dot of yellow that seems at first the sun, but rising at midnight.
Inexplicably. But as you aproach you see first the towering coloums of smoke.
Vomitting lazily into the sky.
Someone has set this world on fire and the smoke is the slowest messenger of all.
Four
Taxi-man, oh taxi-manTaxi-man,Taxi-man, oh taxi-man
Oh, Taxi-man, With swift green and gold convayance.
You are the gift of God's burning light upon this world,
To rescue me from some frozen steppe. Not the inffinite plains of the Huns, But the cold concrete of a five to nine after work. Shivering with fever and with cold and the wind.
You pluck me from the modest half way point,
filled with impulse-buy candies and condoms, and a quizzical Sri Lankan wondering at my pacing/passing. And you, like Pegasus, whisk me, warm. Across the street and cross the roads and you deliver me safe home, &n
Downtown RainI crouch on aDowntown Rain
cold steel barrier
and offer votive prayers to the sky.
As the mariachi guitar that creeps
slowly from the beaten yellow Stucco
of a family business too long in dying defies the threatening sky.
It cries life
and joy
to a grey gull-filled sky.
Suddenly the last throaty note ends as the owner,
his back only wetted by the rain, pulls it inside.
Footprints on the MoonBo Jangles is dead, long buried now In a hobo cemetery under an over pass.Footprints on the Moon
So who am I? Pen scratches on bleach? Fear of tomorrow?
For who are we? Just wandering minstrels in a ‘92 Oldsmobile, Bright white under a blanket of prairie dust. Like a poet Loman.
A thousand hungry skies, Horizons. Golden fleece and golden fields and a long road.
So we wander, silently, In void and shadow. We run the tarmac from the island of rain and salmon To the island of rain and cod.
And if we throw careless gravel to the
I saw Jesus on a street corner.
Pride
--
~i'm not crazy, i'm reality impaired~
--
Johannes factotum.
--
Andrew
--
Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it.
Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
...after all, it brought me to your page.
anyway, feel free to check my gallery out and if you like something, feel free to leave your
- tK
--
when your luck is golden
you're the center of gravity.
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