Jesse S. Mitchell
Come all you red-assed baboons, you motherless souls, everything complacency, all you hallucinogens and all you ghosts that contentment can spawn.
All you beaker breakers, bell-ringers, you men-o-war, come all you precipitating rain clouds, you fog bank wanders, you restless robbers, the stealers of words with jack-knife knees and the long arms spread nations wide.
This is no time for fist-swinging witticism, no time for leg-dangling bravado, no planetary agility, we cruise through the stars.
This is no place for memory showers or the big brain storms,
This rock breaking weather, white sheet blank sky, filling out the forms.
Take apart my body, sell the parts for rent
The parts for rent
Take apart my body, and sell the parts for rent
And we will drink from every bottle and live like daisies, like kings, ‘til the money is all spent.
and take a second to click on this link and check out issue one of “Museum Life” featuring several contributors to Carbon Noise Poetry. Thanks: http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/632713?__r=457865&s=w