BLEEDING MONEY POLAROIDS
The prestigious hustling cupids
Slithering and horny in vinyl
Sending civility decades back.
Forgetting Steinem and MLK
While we drive in corvettes
And dress our jugulars in costumed jewelry
We’ll never have
They remain pixelated
It is like looking in from the threads of lingerie.
Look at our story,
Sifting dirt from diamond prisons
If only we could die young,
Wouldn’t have to pull the trigger to old-age pain,
When resting in fear –
Blue mime skinny bones in chairs of wheels.
With weathered pennies in pockets,
And 50-year old Polaroids scattered over grassy loom shag carpet.
Looking at pinpoint blur,
The visions of drunkened alcoholic uncles and other suspicious failed gods,
Making dirty carpet angels over coughed up fibers and oily hairs.
That stick to polyester like solvents of lint.
All the timelines read these pictures.
From all those bordellos and cathedrals.
Zoos with timid monkeys and barnyard elephants
Tigers on Quaaludes and broken neck giraffes
Limping to the tree with a few leaves to feed.
The mind brings back the Psychedelic Summers
To Winter bone blizzards.
Christmas presents in hands to appearing like mugshots,
Appearing like that guy suspicious to the murder of
They always built clowns out of the macho,
In those times
Light will blemish us away
Our brains when teased become melting wax.
And we are nothing but the drippings from Pollock.
photo by David L O’Nan