Utopian Window Blinds
I met John Christopher after I
awoke from bright brain
damaging lights and a spinning
stomach of cocktails of poisons.
He dressed like a wizard,
clouds gathered pulleys of gods and he
shut the utopian window blinds.
He offered me a dollar burrito
as his naked girlfriend walked in.
She took 2 steps towards the fridge and
purged
a gallon of wine into particles of cat
litter.
I want to get back to the
windows where maybe I can see
heaven in distances, or
mountains bare of snow.
I’m lucky to know this stranger
who kindly sings to us, gives
us the gifts of impressionist
art and Beethoven’s piano
tattooed in his brain.
I’m unlucky that I haven’t woke
up and maybe that party was
just a fool’s joke and maybe
behind those thunderstorms is
the bite of the lame, the
slaughter, the hug of raging water.
Beautify my broken heart
Look into my mind and tell me
I am Magical
Don’t let me slip, crooked and without a
home.
Let me sit with the shadows
and let me remember the
women that used to flirt with these
unknown soldiers.
White Sheet Metal Heat
I guess you’ll just invite yourself in,
Mr. superiority with black eyed,
bloodshot, half-crippled
driving severed metal motorcycles with a
loaded gun.
A corpse walker with white sheets in
America.
Driving till the blood burns to a volcanic
metal heat.
You travel with the Sturgis circus
Don’t come near my family, “wise man”
Flask in your hand, Crystal Meth bubbling
in your head.
Buzzing up bumblebees in your fuzzy
dreams, swing at the hornet’s nest
and watch the clouds bleed. There is no glow for you.
Long grass blades with burnt tips is your
energy fuel.
With your solid white sheet, you think
you’re a form of king.
Smothering in like funnels obliterating
nails and shreds of the trailer park
vacuum up in the flames. The paedophile Uncle and his 100 page letters
can’t invent you a new identity. They can’t make your potatoes grow. And they
can’t
stalk your women for you full time. There’s a burning ball of gas heading your
way
to explode you from rotten to root.
Come on over, Mr. Loaded gun.
See the scars ripping through my skin.
Can you identify me as a fossil that has
been eaten from flesh to ghost already?
Bones stripped and my teeth ready to
chew. I’ve buried rapist like you with
the worms .
Crusting off in this white sheet metal
heat.
Bravado comes, bravado runs
Bravado comes, bravado runs
Keep the running, bravado when blades
chase
Keep the running, ego and greed. It is
getting hotter and hotter.
Hide in your hills of dirt, ready to
strike when the guard is down
I’ve got the battle plan in my head, I’ve
got the battle field in the mazes of vessels and neurons
I’ve got the mind and all you have is led
and steel, swerving mirrors showing a shady fuck!
Drink your medicine for those brain eating
“turkey mites” with threats and shouts
and cuss you outs. Swallowing in your drug
infected teeth. Swallow them down into
flakes
into the burning ulcer of your white sheet
metal heat.
Your magic wand has left your hand.
David L O’Nan (he/him) is the founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art, A writer, editor for nearly 20 years.
He has pieces found in IceFloe Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ghost City Review, Royal Rose Magazine, Rhythm & Bones Lit, Cajun Mutt Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Nymphs Publishing, Spillwords, Wombwell Rainbow Blog, Punk Noir Mag, Elephants Never, 3 Moon Publishing & a past contributor to Headline Poetry & Press.
He has 5 books available on Amazon & also has 6 Anthology books of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest & the Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology available online as well.
Twitter @DavidLONan1 @feversof and www.feversofthemind.com Poetry & Art Group on Facebook.
Website is www.feversofthemind.com for many interviews, book reviews, short stories & poetry from many.
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