. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

The Astronaut

When I pry myself from the cold hands of the carnival
I would rather not hear any apologies or cries for peace
Miles and miles of your sins
Like the blackness that falls after death
My legs lifting me above spinning worlds lost to the maw
Summers and winters will never multiply again
Purples and golds will never mix
The blackness that eats it all
At this height I am beyond madness
To search for the perfect song
To make this moment become movement and rhythm
          and speculation
To find me caught in your perfect kiss
Grasping like a child whose lost his balloon
          at memories floating away
Miles and miles on a missile
The dragon blowing smoke into the mouths of everyone
          I’ve ever loved
Aimed into the blackness
I let the machine into my heart
Cutting me open like a prison fight
Following the path of the ghosts of Mankind
On this the darkest day, if I find myself unable to carry on
           the mission
Cast up your blue eyes into the stars
Search out the slow red jewel  moving near the edge of the night
And it will be enough



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