yellow wall with brick, a white bicycle

mortared bricks taken from abandoned
home doorsteps, chimney stacks

front entrances with eviction notice

inside, blankets cover windows
billboards cover holes

in fences

advertise some sort of miracle
some sort of despair

umbrellas carried into morning
showers of the rich

bricks placed on top of one another
to hide noises

of children without friends
parents without

food in pots

wrenching of hands

circus managers walk by darkened
houses

looking for spent dollar bills,
admit one tickets

bricks fired out of memorial civil
war cannons

to commemorate lost soldiers,
the poor take

to fill empty holes in dwellings

children play with broken pieces
as soldiers

even smaller pieces kept in band aid
boxes for cuts and

wounds

a red brick and another brick painted
yellow

drinks in papier-mâché cups sold in
front of homeless

yellow in appearance from running
water rusted pipes

the lemonade stand constructed from
cardboard boxes

used to sleep in on cold nights

cops give tickets kept in glove boxes
to untagged, forgotten cars

eventually towed to abandoned
warehouses

winged, mechanical flying devices
build nests in engines

politician runs his campaign in, uses
a brick facade

yellow paint, horse hair brushes

slogans delivered on a white bicycle,
held in place by a wire mesh

basket

the poor try to hold their lives in place
with wire mesh

collected thoughts
dreams

fall through

a white bicycle rests against a yellow
wall with brick

searching
searching

cracking bricks measure its life,
the bike grows old

in inches.

Copyright © 05/04/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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sing the electric flame

it seeks the current charge like ghosts
seek a house wire thought
 
it seeks the storm, seeks no time watch,
slides down on clouded ladders
 
shifts air wind movement like white
shirted workers shift 
 
delinquent paper stacks;
 
the sky opens
the sky braces
 
itself against imaginary boundaries
 
roll of the weather dice,
 
electric flame light with black clouds in the
offing
 
just like looking in a rear view in a 
tunnel dark;
 
portal night riot of colors
prisons landscapes,
 
incarcerates swaying trees,
shackles those afraid;
 
loud clapping of thunder
crack of bright lightning
 
spreads its fingers apart
grabs emotions, they fold
 
up like cheap card tables,
 
tastes fear, knows its safe in its mouth,
 
the rain weeps, walks down on 
clouded steps
 
in anguish, smites gardens,
smites dry, abandoned
 
streets,
 
homeless man freezing on a park bench,
 
a poet in isolation, climbed up
attic steps
 
dented pots catch water here and there
 
he writes, ‘sing the electric flame…’
 
 
Copyright © 04/30/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
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