. 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

Saturday, November 2, 2013

For The Madness

When I found you naked and still weary of being
          were you concerned then of the Sins of Man
Stricken deaf your cheeks bore footprints of blood
Your pale stomach a road map to interstellar
          beyond our reach
Were you burned in last night’s fire
The Dakotas clutching photographs and stuffed
          while rubber hoses snaked between their flannel knees
               and Dad’s throbbing blue balls
Read the story of your spine to me
     and count all the days of your life in a single
Waste nothing you stretched your growing frame into a woman’s
Faced yourself in the mirror every day and watched
     your breasts
          for hours
The axe falls heavy, does it not
     when the wood is ripe for the blade
Lying there like you did in the brambles amongst
     shoe-vine and
          white-tip’d clover
I couldn’t help falling in love with you
For the madness flows both uphill and down and the
     woods go on for days.



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