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Bridget L Curren Oct 2018
Outdoor couches adorn
Wrap around porch houses
Where old folks sit
In felted feathers and morning sweat
The street is a stage
To watch the world, unfurl before them

Abandoned houses with “stop work” plaques
Sit like ghost village shacks
Dangling electrical wires
Swinging like forest vines
In this concrete jungle

Nocturnal Co2 emissions
Mosquitoes on reconnaissance missions
To **** your jugular
To shed the blood of the covenant
Payback for the horrors in history
In the American South

This is Atlanta

An old woman hobbles
Down the craggily sidewalk
Long, gray dreads like Voodoo
“ali ali wei boomah!!!”
She hisses as you walk by
Leaving you wondering if she
Just placed a curse on your life
But you just keep walkin’ on

As if you weren’t cursed
As if each step
Each drop of sweat
Weren’t planning their revenge

This is Atlanta
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i don't understand america, i really don't,
the american export is either
the west coast, or the east coast,
and very little in between...
   let's just say: west / east coast americans
are embarrassed by their middle
"cousins"...
      well, that's how it looks like:
esp. from a european perspective...
middle america: is america -
  but you rarely see it as an export material;
it's as if "america" doesn't want
you to see america -
   and that bogus facade of contempt
from anywhere else in the world -
i poke my nose into the air and merely
say: do you smell it? do you?
the air is rife with fear;
point being? i have the least concern for
"middle earth" america,
  i actually find it as glorious as my
little essex **** hole: **** great -
that it's boring & quiet,
i can walk down the street in the night
and turn into a large imposing shadow,
height's there, weight's there,
   all i had to concern myself with,
once upon a time, was a marijuana grower
high on coke, trying to tell me his
life story and his bruised knuckles,
so paranoid that he thought i was a police
informer, so he started touching my chest
to check whether or not i had
the sort of equipment you put on for
others to listen in...
the sort of **** hole that allows you to write
something, speak very little,
   and, watch a ******* rainbow appear
in the sky...
   but that's england,
and as everyone in england will tell you,
essex being the "laughing stock" county
of the isles... well... who would have thought
that depeche mode came out of...
basildon... or all places!
the best snooker players come from essex,
namely ronnie o'sullivan & steve davis...
**** me, even the prodigy:
seem to be a nice little **** hole, after all;
but that's beside the already made
point... we, in europe never really see
middle-america,
sure as **** we see the east / west coast
glamour, the crème de la crème:
but rarely the usually uniform globally
    intrinsic: mundane.
shame really, we hear it though,
     in bruce springsteen songs, but we rarely
geet a chance to see it, howdy howdy.
sure, by comparison europe does feel
claustrophobic, we live in tight compartments,
just shy of japanese housing economics,
but what you see, is, really what you're
going to get;
i have to admit though, watching these
youtube videos, rarely do i find myself as
flabbergasted as when watching
   heartbern... now, that's my sort of american,
american intellectualism of the "higher"
variety can disappear,
    personally i love the "banjo" twang of
the accent, the root veg approach,
the tumbling **** metaphor when enough
or too many -isms have been used by
either coast america intellectual...
  i swear, those are the worst, aren't they?
and my, isn't the ***-crack of america huge,
**** cheeks either side of this massive
***-crack...
                 that's the sort of american i imagine
myself having a beer with...
wallah bamah way-bey boomah,
       ****** ****** *******...
     arkansas, hannibal lecter,
            states combined the size of belgium
x50, the flatness of it,
      the tornados,
                       cowboy hants and hooty...
**** me, even the bible belt...
           yes ma'am, yes sir, come 'ere boy!
i can't seem to fathom the other america,
the one exported, the american east / west
coast...
  like i once said: i like drinking,
and no woman likes a man drinking,
thankfully i aspired to the karate belt of:
     to live life, as if it were sunday traffic;
it takes some sort of diligence,
to fill all that free time as a cat might with
sleep...
      sometimes it seems harder to
not think (reflect), than it is to think (reflex)...
you really think a dog's or a cat's
consciousness, is orientated around a woof
or a meow, that somehow, it's longed up
in there like our ego that morph into thought,
exfoliating like a flower?
animal brains are pure optical instruments,
those things run on optics,
  look at them long enough,
esp. catching a cat unawares when it's looking
at you, with the veil of severe solipsism (autism)
is lifted... you can see right past it...
i'm starting to wonder whether i forced
these words out,
that would be unusual,
           since i hardly write anything
within a sober framework...
        well... then again, i did have 4 pints
of beer before setting these words
              on beelzebub's pixel canvas.

— The End —