Shattered Glass – A Poem

Shattered Glass

I walk on shattered glass to remember
the bottles that were broken.

Jagged edges
slice compassion.

A screech owl woke me last night.
His profile rolling
under the clouds

speaking through an analog signal
about a cow’s tongue
cut off for spreading heresy

among the herd.
Bovine justice.

I keep a calico
covered, heirloom
Bible on the upper tier
of my bookshelf
for the Inspector

who comes by daily to tear out a page,
and has made it now half way
through Psalms. It helps to
keep him busy.

“What is sin but a concept?”
He asked me that day
the fires erupted and carnage
dined on dried bones
and mercy. His back
ridged.

“Like Serengeti sangrias and skateboards, Sugar!”
I replied to his sour face.

Morning ruminations of our
gatherings came to me
on the crisp, spring air accompanied by the
fragrance of forsythia.  The crew
brewing rebellions
and solace, wrenching from
each other
the idleness of our desires,

translating the Eddas, the
Kama Sutra, and Sendak, for
recreational purposes.

The world has lost its way.
The Father Turned Hermit
retreated to The Mountaintop Home and
now only speaks with the East
Wind while the elk migrate south.

Logic is a force of nature
absorbed through the skin
just to surrender to our passion.

My hot blueberry tea
tingles my fingertips
while explosions thunder and
ring in the distance.
We rotate on imported
Hungarian tiles
smuggled through Honduras
that shatter
under the weight of our lunacy.

So let us all be mad then, for fate
is on vacation.

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8 thoughts on “Shattered Glass – A Poem

  1. Man what rhythm! “We rotate on imported
    Hungarian tiles
    smuggled through Honduras
    that shatter
    under the weight of our lunacy.”

    I can hear Ginsberg’s tongue dripping!

    Each line so full of connected emotions and perceptions that are so daring! Awesome

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