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Two-Step Gunner
If this is how I've been short-changed
than I've been wrong.
Hold the phone, define the defeat
scurry, scurry
cup of coffee
rotten path of steam blowing in the face of danger
the politics of this mind is a garble
of smoke being blown into the ear of the earth.
and in its splendor disappears, reappears, distorts,
conforms, trapezing in the slippery hands
of presumption; again
in the fire
sure shot existence, in the fire.
a limber justification of uncurling death.
The human hair and eyes of each walking man
somewhat machiavellian in nature, when each toe and
finger needing to be emphatic, like a high pitch voice spinning
spinning
spinning
cooperatively. seeking response.
with one crushing reply (buried somewhere in the deep south
is where I find my friends) our ideas softly
treading on the linear minds of the men who make up
our system: translated into one warm blooded animal--
the gunner.
the gunner.
the two-step gunner.
Mocking our fleet
like a busy signal being shot into the desperate air
You see, here, everyone is frail.
All the fingertips are dancing slightly off the coast
and barraging in milk and honey
like in freedom
in sweet lands
where flowers glance at a chance at recovery
So speak
slowly
in the ears of my father
Because where his heart stands
is where I am
more than forever
You see
His hands
are never on the trigger
His calm is the weather
His calm
calm
calm
This poem, in its excellence, speaks what is on every aware mind: Why am I not heard?
The society has not opened their eyes. We don't even know we are hunted and out-smarted by this government.. these "gunners".
It's sad that we live off of presumptions, and like you said, it ends up in flames. But... the truth is still there......stirring.... waiting....
Awesome poem.
"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.