Gulf

My head is a choppy brown gulf.

Storm cloud demons thunder vicious machismo

from a toothy mountain range of rolled black curls.

 

Tornado winds twist quaint little boats into furious debris clusters,

oil spills from busted pipes,

former life decays in meaty chunks that float

and bloat from cap to cap like dead children

on wild winter toboggans.

 

white shores blushed deep pink,

tide pools of blood and crude

swirl red-midnight into the noonday heat.

 

I hear your jabbed laughter from the burning rigs.

I see your shattered emerald eyes

in every angry wave.

 

I open my river delta and vomit

massive floods of destruction

uphill

onto your unsuspecting reality.

 

I want to be a glassy blue lake.

I want to a gyrating green sea.

But, my head is choppy brown gulf.

 

And, you will drown with that sour

expression tattooed onto your fresh face.

 

Pretty lace flotsam swims away like a spooked moccasin.

 

Bare foundation tombstone sighs chilly pain

from where a shapely mansion

once stood glorious.

 

In a month, nobody will remember the color of the paint

or the yellow roses in the garden

who lied about their age an weight.

 

Just gone…..

another wreck sleeping in my belly for eternity.

 

Now, maybe,

I’ll find peace.

Reviews

[Kenneth The Poet]

Disturbingly delightful. Almost Texan in its delivery.