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orb of confusion
by Charlie Morgan
it's no wonder the gates to love and hate
are as a turnstile, a saloon door
leading in and around
before it leads you out,
a merry-go-round with your
happiness the lone rider
and faster, and faster;
the ride spins til your
veins are strained
and push outward stretching
the exposed skin to finite zeros
and the lessons burrow
themselves into your dermis
becoming a new you, different
by a day, month, decade.
all
brought about by this orb of confusion
this flat and hilly place they say
is spheroid, not round, and bankers
are poor, and trash collectors-rich
and college teachers-dumb, preachers-rape,
and governments' most achievable aim:
corruption, this place, this
orb of confusion.
seems
it's as it should be.
we gotta go IN to find OUT,
we listen, not hearing, with dumbo ears
pinned back, missing most sounds
and hearing only the whoosh
of heated, smelly air.
05/13/2005 Posted on 05/13/2005
Copyright © 2025 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 05/13/05 at 10:38 PM oh to win the lottery and buy your own island and start your own government...that which will become corrupted anyway, but that you could at least remember back to a time where it wasn't...i'm there with you cHaZ...~JPP |
| Posted by Rusty C Arquette on 05/18/05 at 09:35 PM I'll see your orb of confusion and raise you a cone of silence! (grin) - Well writ.. RCat |
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