Next Week

Patterns

Pulling scabs like the wings off a moth
yawning, planks of whitewash
rock minutes
but what is a day
when the sun doesn't care
just falls, up---there---waits on morning news.
Men with faces of ivory spears, with asses on cushions of silver dust
early morning, mid-day trumpeters, "Black boys, immigrants and gays
all on drugs and all with guns."
Fight in vain, ruptured streets
fist glow and splintered teeth
chrysalises hidden under feet
baked dry from the heat of middleman's eye
A boot forced, needs only a call
to a brother, and where is the mother?
Just--let it repeat
catch it again
same time next week.

Reviews

[sonnie ibadah]

"...Just--let it repeat
catch it again
same time next week...." a never ending story. well potrayed

[Crusty Pizza Stain]

same time next week my brother from another in vitro fertilization

[Gaston Villanueva]

"baked dry from the heat of middleman's eye" was my favorite line
I liked how Chadvonswan interpreted this poem and I agree with what he said about your words always having truth lurking in them

[Chadvonswan]

"Black boys, immigrants and gays all on drugs and all with guns."

I like how you represented the media and their super-exaggerated-ness about most of everything. Corrupted words, and visions twisted into altered conceptions. Misconceptions misconstrued by the a*****e Television? Whatever it is that lurks in your words there is always truth, Zachary