Home: Poetry: Michael P Smith: Gettysburg
 
 
 
Love won at Gettysburg
I was there

acoustic thoughts of a red crow

it came about
        their
                  requiring
                  death.

What this amounts to is
        too many miles
                  a wall built inside a locked door
                  defective mirrors
                  time
                  and ideology.

The whole world swims
                                in the shit
                 of
                 legal murder

                                        under a fat butter sun

        screaming love-words
                 to a concrete sky.

        No one
                  with a stomach
                          for the hard shit:
                                oral cavities
                                        empty bottles

          high heels walking
                                                  away
                                                           from
                                                                    us…

Fall from the eyes of a condor,
                be demented
        paint your Cadillac lime-green
                you earned it.

               Go fishing to relax and
                    jump straight
                into the boat.
        
The pulse binds us, sets us apart
                from
                        nothing.

Want nothing but your father
        with his ice cream, root beer, and bacon
                breakfast-a hatchet buried in his head.
 
 

 

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