POEM WITHOUT A TITLE by Yakov Leib HaKohain-Kalidas (L.G. Corey) A round ball on a flat surface rolls down the slippery slope of morning into a bathtub of tepid gin where floats a rubber ducky and a dead body murdered by a murder of crows searching anywhere for breakfast. Loaves of bread are growing from the ground that Adam tilled and Abel fertilized with blood crying out to God, “I, too, am dead!” And driverless cars circle the roundabout in the center of the Plaza of a lonely Looney Tunes cartoon. “Twelve oclock, and all is well!” shouts the cop directing traffic. from six feet under, pushing up daisies through cracks in the street to mark the driver’s way to wherever he is going much too fast for the speed of light to stop and ticket.
Posted on: Wed, 19 Mar 2014 21:30:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015