Sons and Daughters

Posted: January 18, 2012 in Burn Poetry
Tags: , ,

We are the sons and daughters of pioneer souls,
Standing at borderland’s edge with our eyes full
Of the western horizon.
Buffalo free.
Buffalo strong.

Cottonmouthed whispers carry cottonmouth venom
And fangs pierce like the howling January wind.
The stubble of chopped corn lays roughshod,
Frontier Morse code,
A Five O’Clock shadow at a quarter past 6.

Our eyes on the dangling moon,
Midnight anesthesia,
Prairie mud lapping at untied laces of sneaking sneakers,
The future entices
With opiate promises
And boozy half-truths
To be sifted through like river mud;
Gold rushing for facts.

Tracking, stalking, treading, stealing
Moments,
Pickpocketing time,
Writing blank checks
With scribbled signatures and grandiose flourishes,
John Hancock in 140 characters or less.

The suits and ties,
Lawsuits and lies,
Nooses curving round our necks like the corporate ties that bind.
Kenneth Cole looped in a hangman’s knot.

The waves are breaking.
Slamming icy cold and gun-metal gray around us,
A human coastline
Pockmarked with erosion.
The lost. 
The undertow gnaws hungrily at our ankles
Growling seafoam succubus.

We dig our feet in.
Buffalo free.
Buffalo strong.

FIN

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s