Visual poetry - the devourer





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A cubist poem, a cube, a poem, the poem, the cube, the poet cube

Ways to be be in the sun. I        On a green carpet of grass carpet outstretched in the sun                              Under a sunhat waring a striped bikini on a striped sun chair. Yellow and red red and yellow and green and blue green blue green. Baking and browning in the sun 70's midwife. II                             In the shade under a tree shading. Not sunbathing shading. Shading not sunbathing under a tree.                    In the cool light away from the warm. The branches providing cover. Little droplets. Little droplets of sunlight shines through shines through the branches dancing on my face. Dancing             squirrels dancing on my face. Dancing light and squirrels on my face. III In a desert...
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#whyringling

This place, it saddens me.  The closer I get to the end the clearer I see the trap that's been so neatly woven around it. All these people mashed together in a hotpot of nerves and broken spirits.  The constitution that was supposed to be a beacon, turned out to be the money bin of Uncle bloody Scrooge. Grasping tight for the dollars, even when we ask for new chairs we get hand-me-downs from the more fortunate;  The golden cows, the ones that are expected to carry the name and lure in more cash.  We are the less fortunate; the bastard child of this configuration. Yet even the money cows don’t have a say. They are expected to fall in line, do the work and keep their yaps shut. They came here with dreams, just like the rest of us. But even they got disregarded for the ever growing sea of golden coins that make up the foundation on which we stand.  Somewhere along the way we became forgotten.  Slaves to the constitution even though WE are the ...
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