“Good writers touch life often. Mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies”– Ray Bradbury, Farenheight 451
(the spring blooming light was approaching.)
I hear hoofbeats, now.
thats the sound of her arterial valve, crackling on the oven
and thats her left aorta ,keeping time.
She is afraid she has it all mixed up
left aorta, right
right aorta, left; (?!?!)
touching life most often
is a hard guess.
(at best, mine is at work.)
a calculation, interpretation,
thats my cervical cortex springing back, at the centrifuge
and thats my left cortex ,analyzing you.
I am afraid I have it all mixed up
left cortex, right.
right cortex, left; (?!?!)
giving life a run down
might be a bearable mess,
(but he is on the wheel)
making a turn to the station
faster faster FAST
take a look back
that is the sound of the oil tank, up in flames,
the left turn signal, clicking.
He is afraid he has it all mixed up
left turn, right
right turn left; (?!?!)
raping the soul out of life (I assure you)
is your best bet.
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry