b a w s
by Johanna May
The book of zombie faces
sylphs in and out of tangents.
Numbers behind the artifice—
lie by numbers.
Skittering behind the glass
faster than a blink of a blink.
Feeps chorusing like a flock of birds.
A monster is eating at subway
A banshee quotes the scripture
Dracula is —at Transylvania Castle
Tarzan likes this.
Jane is subscribed to this.
Paint a gloss over the chipped, dusty surface
of mediocre everyday
by sharing it to a mediocre everybody.
And no these words are not spat
from atop a pedestal of righteous condescension.
I am in the pages of your book too
light-frozen like a portrait of stone
smiling smiling smiling
showing my serrated portal of bones.
Posted on 01/15/2013
Copyright © 2021 Johanna May
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Joe Cramer on 01/15/13 at 06:05 PM|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 01/15/13 at 07:31 PM|
I wonder sometimes if maybe everyone is mediocre. I guess it depends upon the perspective one has. So maybe we are all trying to get out of the mediocre rut we are strolling along in. Must be time to inspect the rut look for Inet door to walk through or into and meet another group in a different rut. I hold the door open and they all rush through the door I just came in from. The similarity strikes me like an image in the mirror.