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Out Back of the Restaurant
Contributed by
screwge
on
Thursday, 3rd July 2008 @ 11:30:13 AM in AEST
Topic:
abstract
|
No finite stove Ended at the chimneys crest; This was a vestibule Open and easy, where one might tool For hours, one like Kris Kringle Might loiter and mingle.
Overflowing in a challis Is a cup of smoking malice. It looks like dry ice, And confirmed is that effect -- To a tactile vice.
Out back the dumpster, Is some cavernous carrion That will laugh with ribs, That will tarry on, Yet it will still be used up After enduring a bludgeon; For, a cat can no longer afford To be a curmudgeon.
Around the bend, Leftover meats like tomatoes Were julienned -- And strewn about in humidity As if painted by Dal And wilted in the randomnity That subscribes to no folly.
Even for a decisive Pollyanna, There is a chill atop the wind; Even for the man of wanderlust Who chases blindly each gust.
And the slightest vagabond Is not even fond Of his defiant laughter, Which flits uncomfortably in and out Of a tremulous rafter.
He takes a long drag on the charred cigarette of winter.
Even having abandoned these lodgings, There are harder dodgings.
There is a chill in the air That prickles long-inert hair. Pity the young and nave On such a ruthless eve.
Yes, I see rice paddies and imperturbable peddlers. There are silver-lined caddies who began as meddlers, Their iron clubs sticking out at fiddlers. The irony of their clubs brushing gainst diddlers
Rekindles a swindler.
And some neon lights paroxysmal Float into a reflection abysmal -- Down into a sewer, Where a grower Has retired as a brewer.
A valley ensues a peak Sally is stalked by a freak.
There is discomfiture When anyone attempts to forage For a home of self-storage -- And finds it occupied By detrital tide.
The street is dented with potholes Full of voles Full of ineluctable pratfalls Where a rat falls Albinism still touts it Once pure.
Copyright ©
screwge
... [
2008-07-03 11:30:13] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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