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Sid_LollanPoems
Constellations of Time     suffocated, deadspace in my neural lapses—                                                —still, I caught the fly                                                               with my hand. Constellations of Time—          and I am cowboy in the outer expanses of sanity faithful cowpoke and Lenape murderer, native lover, too, dun American guru        like john wayne defunct. but when we speak like droogs,        this be:        America: A Detective Story and I’m the dogged dreams of america: Humphrey Bogart with his dame Liberty No, I am Robert Mitchum, too. Remember Philip Marlowe? I once was america’s psychosis, and still am. [I am the soul who walked above the soul who walked below; Constellations of Time—         like gooey cosmic spider webs; [and I ******* hate spiders] Fear of Death …is being stuck, and fear of that horrible cosmic spider coming home for dinner! For, I am Monsieur Bonaparte’s Hollywood counterpart who puts the war before the art, but not the horse before the cart DEATH is where my story starts; railroads, like the spine of a country and constellations of time –im on a plain– ghosts in dust bowl clusters reflect like dust particles, like western stars, scattered— and im on shifting razor planes and who do the math?
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Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
Talkin' [to myself] Blues
Constellations of Time     suffocated, deadspace in my neural lapses—                                                —still, I caught the fly                                                               with my hand. Constellations of Time—          and I am cowboy in the outer expanses of sanity faithful cowpoke and Lenape murderer, native lover, too, dun American guru        like john wayne defunct. but when we speak like droogs,        this be:        America: A Detective Story and I’m the dogged dreams of america: Humphrey Bogart with his dame Liberty No, I am Robert Mitchum, too. Remember Philip Marlowe? I once was america’s psychosis, and still am. [I am the soul who walked above the soul who walked below; Constellations of Time—         like gooey cosmic spider webs; [and I ******* hate spiders] Fear of Death …is being stuck, and fear of that horrible cosmic spider coming home for dinner! For, I am Monsieur Bonaparte’s Hollywood counterpart who puts the war before the art, but not the horse before the cart DEATH is where my story starts; railroads, like the spine of a country and constellations of time –im on a plain– ghosts in dust bowl clusters reflect like dust particles, like western stars, scattered— and im on shifting razor planes and who do the math?
Written by
Sid_Lollan
Pennsylvania
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
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