"tricolored" poems
Caulk like chalk lines
Drawn on a brick wall
draws blocks together
like ionized particles;
and so the dust whips
up from the pavement,
onto the flat mast
of a tricolored flag
which rests in public space–
but not without movement,
but not without tension–
would fall without knots.
And so our good people,
held by conviction
prescribed by no doctor
swallow a large dose.
Fellow faces they crumple, yet
it’s poor taste to mention that,
and so the tongue is tied;
we speak not.
White cloth like chalk lines,
Red strips like bricks fall
Three-fourths down a half mast;
good people feel sad.
Hands over mouths breathe
through cracks in the radio feed,
like freckles on a sunburn bleed
when cancer starts to spread.
Good people see the bad
and so white faces turn red,
the tragic intrudes on public space
and yields nothing said;
With chalk drawn in broad lines
Knots in arteries tie,
And so I share in death
with all passers-by.
Chalk traces human shapes
—hollow forms on the street—
a dream in waking,
immutable quaking,
beneath a a flag where all colors meet.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
You were the ever deep blue destructive tides crashing into my ever crumbling moss covered walls over a mythical lilac sky
Breaking me down to my core ripping away the moss breaking down the stones as if you didn't know they would fall to ruin under your ever growing waters drowning deeper and deeper into deafing silence struggling, gasping for a single breath of air hoping you might pull me out
But the memories of tired brown eyes behind thin glasses to your lightly calloused finger won't let me leave
Once our souls mixed and became a tricolored whirpool of emotions only to fade into calm water before the storm knowing our "love" was being washed away and never finding shore
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 8:26 AM UTC