. 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

Friday, September 16, 2016

She Asks Much

Into this heat I convey my soul
while rattle throat'd locusts sing a lament for the lost sun
before the night arrives
the land must pass through a window of grey
when wizards and witches
hang from the black shadows in the branches of old oak trees
the heat rising from everything
in an invisible chorus like the prayers of long dead saints

And into the hungry arms of blood suckers I commit my pale flesh
tiny winged whalemen harpooning the great white whale
how bravely do they fight and fly
how heavy is their craving
how quickly they die
join your brothers, fierce aviator,
rest in quiet peaceful rivers of blood
know hunger no more

May the sweat at my temples
hide the tears on my cheeks
this land asks much
she commands my loyalty
but inspires my love



the price is high
and in between fits of laughter
I weep
hiding my face where she cannot see
swimming through the humid night
where everything tastes like salt
and everything seems to be crying.


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