PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

"ballads from a blackout"

How many nights
are you going to write within the city, about the city

those kids who are scared to take the opiates from the table
how long have you been sitting there among the pulverized ashes
of the sights -- the sights out into further elusive oysters of the world
closing tightly away from you like a million frigid pussies you said

here in the house
of what
undying companionship
of honourable lost causes
of scientology
of causes unknown to science
of avoiding the void
here among the soft hum of failed dancing feet and magazines
here you were able to rise above the moderation of the lives of men
grinding slowly into objects of sex and disintegrating like cheap erasers
here
among the mixing pot strictly of white Jewish male bachelors
you rose above the pidgin shit and blossomed
like a cold water extraction, or one of those tiny powdery capsules
that form shapes when dissolved in cold water -- tigers and dogs
yours was a portrait of lustful assumption
still you rose from that noise into another noise
and what you heard there, one assumes, was still the concerned voices
of other men, all groping in unison for the blinding white soul of the city
all asking about the last day written in the bible.