April 11: Morning Risers, Fashionable Ladies, Sky Eyes, More

Barry lost friends with his grating warning:

“There’s no reason to rise in the morning.”

Nobody listened except for the sun,

Which packed its bags and declared itself done—

“I’ve spent my last day bound up in scorning.”

 

Barry brought darkness, resentment churning,

Predators hunting with no sun burning.

He counted each battle the sunless won.

Barry lost friends.

 

In blackest space the world kept on turning,

And to survive, people were not learning,

So Barry said one more thing that would stun:

“I give myself if there’s light for someone.”

None gave him love for the sun returning:

Barry lost friends.

 

I know a trend that gauche trendy folk buck,

Which won’t surprise as gauche trendy folk suck;

If you like ladies, well, hon, you’re in luck,

For true ladies fashioned don’t give a fuck.

 

You try to vex them—you grab; they parry.

You won’t perplex them, subtle as a truck.

Fall at their feet and beg them to marry,

But true ladies fashioned don’t give a fuck.

 

You want to trick them, to subdue their minds,

To show the world you are more than a cuck.

A man such as you in short order finds

That true ladies fashioned don’t give a fuck.

 

In wowing costume or in mere plain dress,

High-fashioned ladies show weak men their mess.

 

The eyes in the sky, they’ll be you and I:

Satellites, satellites, circling high,

Mouths in clouds beneath them, breathing in air—

No, you can’t see them—feel that they are there,

Waiting to lick, lap folks up like a fly.

 

What don’t they see, opened so wide to pry

In lives below, where they struggle and try

To make fools care—they could be anywhere—

The eyes in the sky?

 

Under their gaze you’ve got no alibi,

Only excuses resigned with a sigh.

The eyes above you all know what is fair,

And their angry beams are enough to scare

Everyone, everywhere until they die.

The eyes in the sky!

 

Highway Pile-Up

 

Reflections on the asphalt burn

White car white car white car

Rearranged

The curl of the hood

The point of the trunk

The ground glass firmament

Road layer car layer fire layer smoke layer

Black white orange black

Firm broken feeding free

The curl of the smoke

The point of the flame

Bends of metal twist firm

Broken glass on the ground

Reflecting black firmament

Emptied windows frame fire

Black layers framed fire framed layers black

White cars bends of metal

Carcasses ground firmament

The curl the point

Rearranged to burn

Talking to you is way more interesting than talking to myself. What do you think?