Rip it to shreds or love it, the response to poetry should be visceral. I wrote it this morning, tell me what you think; it gets better as it goes imo. TW should provide a nice.. ehrm.. mix of responses.
Cracks
The clacking of sharp-shaped shoes on linoleum
Drowns out the claustrophobia of vast space
Where you claim inhabitance, Guides the
Destitute chasm where once you owned
That organ pumping more than simple
Nutrients and oxygen, Delivers shining polished
Command to you who feel no longer much more than
The leather of which the shoes are constructed, perhaps
Excepting the dull thud of bovine slaughter.
Servility settles about your ankles
Billowing like gaseous manacles that leave
Sickly green imprints on skin no longer capable of breath
No longer culpable for your actions now guided
No strained through molds like meat through a grinder
Fitting the taste of that butcheress Reason. She crudely insists
You walk on tempered steel girded by adamantine rails propped near marble statues
That watch that point that pierce your once-rebellious functions that lie
Now shriveled by pools of dogmatic garbage that seep into your liver.
She cleaves your guts and skins your brains and partitions your thoughts into
Bite-size morsels sacrificed to monolithic gods standing sentry before that
Gaping peephole always peripherally in sight that finally
Reveals cracks in the linoleum that stretch across infinite
Landscape out in nowhere and all directions like fine crystal filaments.
Tight-rope walkers have nothing on you who live somewhere
Wedged between synthesizing all one can ken in temples of gold and
Staring slack-jawed with awesome terror at that maelstrom you call walking down the street.
The hammers of process and form masquerade as justice, nailing shut these shoes that are your coffin,
Beating the Earth that composes your atoms into fine granite dust.
Cracks
The clacking of sharp-shaped shoes on linoleum
Drowns out the claustrophobia of vast space
Where you claim inhabitance, Guides the
Destitute chasm where once you owned
That organ pumping more than simple
Nutrients and oxygen, Delivers shining polished
Command to you who feel no longer much more than
The leather of which the shoes are constructed, perhaps
Excepting the dull thud of bovine slaughter.
Servility settles about your ankles
Billowing like gaseous manacles that leave
Sickly green imprints on skin no longer capable of breath
No longer culpable for your actions now guided
No strained through molds like meat through a grinder
Fitting the taste of that butcheress Reason. She crudely insists
You walk on tempered steel girded by adamantine rails propped near marble statues
That watch that point that pierce your once-rebellious functions that lie
Now shriveled by pools of dogmatic garbage that seep into your liver.
She cleaves your guts and skins your brains and partitions your thoughts into
Bite-size morsels sacrificed to monolithic gods standing sentry before that
Gaping peephole always peripherally in sight that finally
Reveals cracks in the linoleum that stretch across infinite
Landscape out in nowhere and all directions like fine crystal filaments.
Tight-rope walkers have nothing on you who live somewhere
Wedged between synthesizing all one can ken in temples of gold and
Staring slack-jawed with awesome terror at that maelstrom you call walking down the street.
The hammers of process and form masquerade as justice, nailing shut these shoes that are your coffin,
Beating the Earth that composes your atoms into fine granite dust.
