gullywashers
Wednesday, September 21st, 2011Tires crush puddles
to make little tsunamis
along flooded streets.
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Tires crush puddles
to make little tsunamis
along flooded streets.
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The screams of budget
bloodshed and staff slashings knife
through hallways of ghosts.
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Handing out trophies
is harder than it looks when
actors, flaks watching.
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The lost shepherd walked
the road to enlightenment
when he found a fork …
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They clawed and stole to
achieve power, finding the
rewards less than sound.
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Looking out over
the world, he found the top to
be a lonely spot.
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The gods of rock found
their stolen souls matted and
framed for mere gawkers.
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Collect them all but
don’t count on redeeming them
till fate allows it.
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The timid duckling
tested the waters and found
them splashably kind.
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In digging up the
poisonous vine, you find the
root is buried deep.
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The towers still stand
in spirit. America
remembers, moves on.
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The paintings are flat,
the photos colorless, but
the sidewalks burst forth.
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The marching band warms
up, the pom-pons shake, and the
kicker says a prayer.
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Happy idiots
skate through life without ever
learning to play nice.
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Milk, frozen pizza,
eggs, cheeses, jars of sauce and
homemade potstickers.
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