Base of a Pyramid

I couldn't, base of a pyramid. Stout column, I shouldn't... but I must enhance the solemn notes, those boats with sunsets on screens.

I must take all those beat-up cars and calibrate them to the warm light of jackhammers. Mercuries and Comets like jewels in the cemetery, Screaming reds bursting past blaring greens

Through pockets of lubricated horizons squaring suns against the streets into the exit lights of flourescents, the past lights of incandescents.

I shouldn't but I taste it. It's something you just build bricks with, trick, pour concentrate to achieve that bricky, stocky forehead to blockhead to soulhead

Flying into the sky full of rectangles, Full of trying perspective. Election night is drawing near, so lets celebrate moxie, the lines to the points hollering about their fate as bait to time.

Great colored buildings, willings, erections taking directions someone's sorting them out like buttons in the smog, godwilling, towering complexions tossing the sky into sections, protecting the atmosphere, learing, jeering, having fun at whose expense? Some mug? I'll hug.


 

back

POETRYP||| MUSIC ||| INTERVIEWS ||| REVIEWS

1961 CHRYSLER ||| UPCOMING EVENTS ||| ART ||| WRITINGS

||| E-MAIL MR. LUCKY! |||