sweep the dirt

A POEM.

retraction, retraction, retraction

a perfect refrain

floating in the pool of your backyard mind

Clear, green, buzzing

ready for action.

The black braided seamstress

is flaunting her wares once more.

a talent born of temptation,

but refined to redirect and transcend sexual desires.

The scope of your vision becoming more vast

as you descend deeper into the dumpster

of non functioning devices.

“Periscope Down!” they yell

from the clear blue sky 

above the pile in which you’re buried .

The culture screams at the cancellers

of culture as the little voice inside

knows, all culture must be thoroughly cancelled

in order for the mending to begin.

An atomic bomb of blind belief

to shift the jaws of the holy beast that must feed

and then excrete the meals 

our souls must eat.

A meal for which the perfect pairing

is a tall clear glass of peace.

Torturers now pretending to take pleasure,

now bleeding from the insides

and yet you hold their heads

and pray as they breath their last breath.

I’ll mail you a postcard from heaven.

The birds sermon delivering the perfect

shell softening vibration. 

to tempt 

to re-invent

a down to earth picture which looks like this.

That blow up doll dream cloud sarcophagus fueled 

maverick named Claudia p seems perfectly wedged

between two sheets of well watered sod lawn, 

which given the perfect circumstances should 

provide a field on which you can throw the ol’ ball.

However, the day just so happens to be drastically hot,

a health warning on your cell phone type of day, therefore,

no amount of water will save the glory that was going

to be your new proudly non artificial field of dreams.

So you’ll just have to pick up the hazardous sized rocks and

sweep the dirt.

which is actually prettier anyways, 

and less expensive,

in fact 

FREE.