Wednesday, June 3, 2009

gimme shelter

Did you see it?
or were you sleeping
lightning painted across a moonless sky
cracks in the pavement
echoed across the midnight black
the canvas across which
nature paints her nightly Mona Lisa

the car is filled with smoke
nature's herb
rolled and smoked
in the face of the storm's fury

the despair of art
transcribed on paper

dare not walk the streets

will you melt?

houses, like faces of humans cowardice
unflinching
unfettered
somewhere artificial light
pierces the eyes of mother nature

have we conquered her
or is her rook moving to checkmate
will she conquer us
we are the streamlined dinosaurs
extinction in disguise

did you think you were safe?
it's darker in your shelter
devoid of natural light
bathe in your artificial illumination
light insincere as the tan of your skin

enjoy your artificial existence
immerse yourself in your fluorocarbons
it's only going to be your ice age

i am happier outside
a single cell
laying on a garden bench
the cleansing water
suffusion of the consumerist sins
i commit on a nightly basis

me and myself wander
a cleansing stroll
in the middle of suburban asphalt
all our problems
washed away
gone in an instant
nature's redemption

the crack of the lightning
the rumble of thunder
the trickle of the rain
down the nape of my neck
our manifested being
is nothing more than
a contrived yearning for control
in a world where we have anything but
we will be shaken off
nothing more than coherent influenza
nature washes our
collective commercial sins
into the proverbial gutter

wake up
we are the disease
nature holds the vaccine
just embrace the needle

1 comment:

Angela said...

you're super talented. i wrote a poem in honor of you:

i just dropped an apple from my balcony
it landed in the bushes in the garden
should i go and fetch it? should i eat it?
should i make a pie
should i let it die?
neither!!

the cat
the cat across
the cat across the
the cat across the way
he stole it
thief!
hes running now with an apple in his mouth
like a junkie on the corner
with the beer bottle
in his fist (for fisting)
or
indeed!
maybe it was the bum with the bottle
and not a cat
i can't say

faithfully,
angela bukowski