Sick

Stench swells, reek rises, smoke shadows,

crowds crawl like a single motley caterpillar,

a river stained with an oil rainbow, flowing, pushing, fighting its banks

"out of my way!" echoes from every end of the alley

staining it a belligerent brick red,

so you can hear the heat rising from angry car horns

"five dollar hot dogs!" vendors, broke and desperate, cry

in heavy, iron voices like Atlas, carrying the sky

noses pressed down, not to loving earth but to cold, unfeeling cement

men call for change, looking up at marble halls of government, with brazen trumpets, 

from tents with red white and blue banners like kings of Greece:

"occupy Washington" they say "bring change now!"

and from the valleys that never sees sun; but we can see them, 

caked with filth, with raged blankets, like a hero's cloak, clinging to their shoulders,

crouching on the sidewalks, rattling coins in their cans. 

And I'm saturated, sickened, yet somehow, I love it.  

Author's Note

Suggestions? Comments? Corrections?
Love it? Hate it?

Reviews

[Collette Clark]

I love this, so much. Like, you don't even know how much I adore this. Good job, dude.