Monday, July 23, 2007

Poem #204 of 365

gnarls barkley sped on past
ignored his wings
he won't be flying much
if he touches down on darkness

don't take his selection
now despondently
his is the star
that will careen to crash

and the shorts of chino
that you stitched in time
to save nine
they will perspire and
prosper even as his
integrity cracks
and tears unevenly

for it's these men who
should sallow yellow,
bequeath their gulp
of culpable and stack
regret under their ribs

instead, it is you
malingers frail,
your stomach goes sour
with feather rot and
stupor steps

this is what it's like,
you are what it hurts,
even flying wings feel torn
when angels get rejected

[for A]

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

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