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Tag Archives: Urban Sonnets
188
The word is dangerous when it touchesthe spirit of a time that lags behindahead, across and over the rushes,the reeds that cleanse the smirched feverish mind:Escape is the instant, the potential of smoke clearing the air, bombing the skytearing aw… Continue reading
187
My feet were throbbing from the energyof the night and day collapsed into fulltime, spherical and tenacious; dirgywails crested through me like waves when they shoal:No shallow urges, just profound urgings before linear time falls down the plug;Th… Continue reading
186
It was a weird dream, in that there was merg-ing with past selves in the dark of the light, while present bereavements cold as IcebergSlim’s professed persona’s gangly nearsight:This is not a trite moralization,but rather a tale of intoxicantexpec… Continue reading
185
I had a dream last night of old teachers,senile but supported for sacrificemade in youth, when the uncertain creaturesof mental cosmography did entice:My world is quintile, and the torrid zone of fragrance and emotion lies betweentwo tropics of pi… Continue reading
184
After ripping away the bandagesfrom his heart and mouth, the young truth-seekerscreamed and drowned in a flood that ravages oppressed minds and makes noble thoughts meeker:But as the water pulsed out from his woundssomething quirky happened: the r… Continue reading
183
Composure and peace feel like butter rubbed(after melted) on every cell I have,every impulse that could quiver when loved,in sheer delight, each tremor is a laugh:There is sweetness in the unprocessed thought that lies on the edge of the fragrant … Continue reading
182
Craven cravings for craftiness and lightcracked the window on a sol-filled tarde,and the snow subsided, from left to right,leaning like Texas speed towards the swarthyDominican priest-pitcher, heaving feet, metrical patterns that slide out of sigh… Continue reading
181
The young alligator with golden teethcannot run in zigzag for what it’s worth,and I can’t live in a push-up beneaththe Florida sun, near the torrid earth:Agriculture “made” us into oxen, and the Oregon Trail made us “Indians,”veritable engines of … Continue reading
180
Sloppily written, but at least it’s onthe page. Growing up is like a sportivepursuit of change. Football. Otis Nixonplayed baseball. My attempts were abortive:So I picked up a guitar, a pen, plume, and I got to designing my liquidrhymes that were … Continue reading
179
As we drag our feet towards the center ofthe universe, a scroll unfolds in space,and its bright ink pulled by a gentle dovespeaks to the happy soul with goals in place:”I hang on the edge of the galactic language and pull the strings from ten perc… Continue reading
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