art of myth
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    POEMS OF THE CITY--
    created by art of myth
    all rights reserved 2009

     A DRIVE TO NOWHERE

    I drove through fog
    A dream beyond crying windshield wipers
    A drive to nowhere
    Nothing iover window's edge
    Only fog
    Darkness
    Endlessness
    Till one day I hit the car
    In front of me and found what I was looking for.



    DEAD IVY

    I suppose
    nobody knows
    why dead ivy twists along
    high fences
    begging for revenge,
    screaming
    in moonlight
    covered with soot
    under large city's foot.


    FOG

    Hibernating in cavern of smoky fog
    Palm trees, ivy vines,
    Hide glare of concrete,
    Between circuit board of freeways,
    Nourishing a river of
    Cars--coffins
    Waiting to pry open

    Cavemen dwell in abandon buildings
    Animated through worlds of shadow,
    Groveling in garbage littered alleys for food.
    Drink.

    Under the canopy of a perfect Southern
    California blue sky.



    GREEN MACHINES

    Green machines,
    aliens,
    scream out gritty sirens
    day
    night.
    All wait the glorious hour.
    We can leave the gloom of green machines.
    Punch out the clock.
    They will await us
    tomorrow.
    Forever.

    Their shadow will trail behind us.



    GARGOYLES

    Stars ate holes through sky
    Above gargoyle faces fraught with
    pain                                                   
                                             
    Headlights passed anonymously
    Through city circuit board
    Seeking home and
    Reaper
    Who visits in
    Dark corners of night



    ONE MOMENT INTO THE THOROUGHFARE

    After the hallow sky shines
    on black glass

    Painted signs in pasty windows
    suck in pedestrians like vacuum cleaners.

    Striding down sidewalk,
    buzzing insects
    discuss the latest events
    on the front page
    on the back page.

    Salty smoke runs away
    beyond  night
    from  grills of
    laughing street vendors.

    Colors glow on wet streets
    streaking the dreams of drivers
    finding their way home.



    SUBURBAN SHOCK

    Moved from L.A.,
    So went the day,
    The year,
    The lifetime.

    My children
    Now play
    In the perfect yard
    Alongside the perfect house
    I should know.
    It looks like all the rest.

    I catch a glimpse
    Of the Aliens
    They emerge from their dwellings
    Beneath perfectly pruned trees.

    They grin behind dark mirrors
    And purple caps,
    Speaking with a foreign accent
    As if choking on chicken bones,
    Communing the latest affair
    Between Mary's husband and the
    other woman.

    I slip away
    To pay the bills
    So I can keep my perfect house
    Alongside my perfect yard
    On my perfect asteroid.


    SUNDOWN

    After the blue sun hides
    behind the city,
    the craggy canyons
    between buildings
    expose deep shadows.

    Wide-eyed zombies
    suck blood of their needles
    on cracked corners

    They can no longer sleep.
    The demons they have collected
    over the years
    are gently gnawing away at their skulls.



    WORSHIP

    People flocked to the church
    Of the giant screen
    To worship
    The Gods--
    Larger than life, eternal,
    Preaching the gospel of screenplay.

    They went to mass every Saturday night
    to fulfill
    ritual duties,
    To sacrifice the night and a quarter day's pay
    To give homage
    To immortal celluloid gods.



    WILD TURKEYS FOR THANKSGIVING
    (2008)

    Jim Beam in the corner

    wild turkeys blaze
    through blind alley
    seeking scorching fire

    drops of memory
    soak matted hair

    Thanksgiving is always a day away
            
            
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