
J Love asked: Assignment for my 406 class, about a street.
Death, Taxes, And Newport Boulevard
I turn on to you like a boxer turns into
a right hook—and with no less affect.
as familiar as my hands—
as routine as my heartbeat—
as fresh as a gaping wound.
Light after light defies as it
drips…upwards, braking me for
traffic as of yet awake! I crawl along—
in slow…gagging…swallows. Alone.
Again and again, they roast me with their
red eye; arms open to embrace the others,
but no one is there—like the girl that stole
away with my heart that day: painful absence.
And now, steady toward the
honeycomb destiny, I feel the buzz
of your angry bees swarming. My eyes
to the sides are blind to what my eyes
behind see so intimately: a late model
Shiner riding me tight, like I was his wife
and he was fresh out of prison.
Herded at your turnstile,
staggering in paved purgatory, I strain
my neck—almost willing a flow through
gilded gates, but I’ll be dammed:
you punch me onto the freeway,
the free way that always takes its toll—
I drip on to those big
green I’s that coax me to merge
in to their thighs—
like drops of pooling blood
on the floor of the ring.
“NO THE PEOPLE SUCKS BUTT”? Lol, okay thanks. You can’t understand my poem; that’s cool, it’s complicated. But I can’t understand you when you talk, that’s a bad sign.
I am getting tons of traffic
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ATI
Angry Bees, Boxer, Death Taxes, Destiny, Drip, Freeway, Late Model, Purgatory, Red Eye, Thighs