Poem #1 from Before the Bridges Fell by David L O’Nan: Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades – poetry

(c) David L O’Nan

Poem 1:

Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades (while listening to Tango Whiskeyman (by Can)

I was picked up during the middle of a Buffalo Trace Wild Turkey run,
On a windy day going across our bending bridges.  The oblivious and untalked about.  How our world could end when they shall fall.  Most of this hideous breath former wunderkinds want to live young, rich & dangerous.  Driving erratically and uncaring of a permanent damage.  They haven't a thought of salvation, salvaging, or empathy.
Oh they want freedom to ring only in their ears.

Picked up by the slick backed balding haired man.  Is he a stranger?
"You, alcoholic and worshiping yourself" I'm mute yet screaming.
I've been loved, but my love now is mute when  you're in control.
The parade, oh it is a happening!  Bubblegum, candy, rusting, raining,
Popping bullets into the windshields and watching us frighten into skeletons.

The drive continues as clouds clash fucking harder.  Thunder so angered it's bleeding crimson all over our minds.    
The weaving concrete seashores.  Are we in for a flight or a swim?
All I see is a saint to himself,  cigarettes don't take away your whole anxiety.  Have another drink. You were anyways.

Your yolk, eases and oozes, blood with madmen living inside.  My broken stems, well are your broken stems.   The same blood circulates, the greed we share in dire moments.  Mine in desperation and yours permanently scarred into your soul.   Yours covered in liver spots.  Mine are just imagining the cars dodge from your metal dances off the cliffs.

The drive is me, a mummy.  In stitches.
Your chains rattle the trunk and I feel your hoarse voice bubbling fire.
I don't know your impulses, and you definitely don't know mine.
I can draw a picture of death much scarier than you. You aren't perched on top of that mountain. You are hanging onto a balloon as the axes fly by to knock you to the waters.

It is fun watching the devil weave around and lose his power.
Can I enjoy a ride to a demise?  An unknown, a simple smug look into a blurry mirror.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1


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