The Foreclosure of Taylor Bean's Smile

I am a blurred picture on a carton of spoiled milk resting upon a ziggurat of decaying rubbish.

My guffaw: neither true nor charming-
It is an overcast Cleveland.

From many evenings last to many evenings future,
I am there; forever will be. 

I am a thermos without a lunchbox.

Put your arm around me-
let us steal this moment.
I will cherish it and many more; They are my skyward idols. 

My heap is rummaged through by a starving and bed-less one. 
His last breath stinks of ethanol. And inconsequence.

My alley:  my home:  my raison d'etre-
We are all here; or maybe just you and I.

All that there is is all that there is. 
I ask for nothing more than more of all that there is.

I am in a technicolor prison atop  discarded 8 tracks.

I am a smile for the camera.
There is no camera.

Away to the far-
I will travel light-
The Great Wall is a bunch of Legos.

I am a speck in the distance- a molecule orbiting nothing in the vastness of space,
But I am where I want to be-

Under a false umbrella-
pelted by the acid
and the rain.

I gaze around with eyes that sting;
A-look for anyone-
Anyone like me.

There are so many false umbrellas:  So many like me.

We are all blurred pictures on cartons of spoiled milk.

No comments:

Post a Comment