PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have yet to find neon signposts

let alone crossroads

I think tho I know

the roads I would not take

or walk only

in the muck of their ditches.



You see

I stand only

in an infinite pasture

gorgeous yet yellow

and infamous

I have wearied myself

in Eastward wanderings

to catch the sun

still infinitely far

yet the Western edge

yawns a golden taunt

fading to unattainable

Splendour.



You see

to me

the Executive's choices

- or those of he who

reaches into the sewer

to eat shit -

are paltry, blasphemous

I do not want to be

the satan eye'd spinster

seeing only evil

I do not want the

bland hypocrisy of Students

who spray 'Hang Bush'

on buildings

seeing no irony.



I grow mad doing

someone else's job

madder still in

idleness

I blame the modern

architects of granite

and steel

but I still see a vision

of prehistoric I,

bearded and enraged by

fire and wheels.



I seem to dislike movement.



Actually, today

I met a crossroad.

I turned left to go

home, and saw towering

on the right path

the yellow ward where

my Grandfather finally

caught up on

himself.

I wonder why I

weary myself

walking in circles.



Yet, midcircle I came upon a tiny flower,

heartbreaking strings in the soundtrack

of the pavement,

desirous of everything I ripped it out

smeared its roots ad bloodied its stamen

dropped its guts and innards, aching

and wept beneath the hospital shadow.