ryandyson
11-09-2010, 11:54 AM
under the workload a lonely paradox
who did not accept a liver
grows yellow
meets a crossing punch
takes no time for a bruise
hiking over health and wealth to his cold fields
headache magnifies a cough stifled
on a training day
so decays a paper analyst
so a pill restores a smile
as necessary
condemned to a computer tongue
the wondrous regime affects him
a world double
should he dry in this one
or grow sick with enthusiasm
for wall brackets screeching dumb steel
and desk lamps sharpening every angle
a disabled visitor grows blue
in the waiting room
staff do the rounds
there are ten or so going solo
trapped in glass
the moon prosecutes cartilage at every turn
fast and black
you can feel their insides
all weaned on the same bleeding black diary
you can feel their black cheese
and clotted cream
my hands stinging now
with cortisol
the staff have grown blue but we see
they have gold insides
scrapped out like an apology
it has not returned
with its angry father as promised
kill it
glass advances its plain territory
as pane and terror under face masks
an inconsistent birth earns the sack
a grimace hacked off the wheal
of stolen genetics
as loyal husks
groan under directives
company invective;
inflation is eating your hopes
we have set them into orbit
once ellipsed
they will disappear
humiliated
hexed now, a social text
pushed by black tipped morals into the farmers market
a turn-sty screeches out stiff neutrals
rubber that won’t bounce and glass flooded black
http://www.aspharpoetry.blogspot.com
who did not accept a liver
grows yellow
meets a crossing punch
takes no time for a bruise
hiking over health and wealth to his cold fields
headache magnifies a cough stifled
on a training day
so decays a paper analyst
so a pill restores a smile
as necessary
condemned to a computer tongue
the wondrous regime affects him
a world double
should he dry in this one
or grow sick with enthusiasm
for wall brackets screeching dumb steel
and desk lamps sharpening every angle
a disabled visitor grows blue
in the waiting room
staff do the rounds
there are ten or so going solo
trapped in glass
the moon prosecutes cartilage at every turn
fast and black
you can feel their insides
all weaned on the same bleeding black diary
you can feel their black cheese
and clotted cream
my hands stinging now
with cortisol
the staff have grown blue but we see
they have gold insides
scrapped out like an apology
it has not returned
with its angry father as promised
kill it
glass advances its plain territory
as pane and terror under face masks
an inconsistent birth earns the sack
a grimace hacked off the wheal
of stolen genetics
as loyal husks
groan under directives
company invective;
inflation is eating your hopes
we have set them into orbit
once ellipsed
they will disappear
humiliated
hexed now, a social text
pushed by black tipped morals into the farmers market
a turn-sty screeches out stiff neutrals
rubber that won’t bounce and glass flooded black
http://www.aspharpoetry.blogspot.com