It can happen here. Bilge currency of words,
not thoughts. Clear reason tilled. Treason
stilted. Dull currents empower the shrill.
Surf clouds. Shroud the frontal lobe. Video
strobe of reality TV – a host w/ the most.
Super Bowl & March madness. Ides of March,
knives in the heart. Game shoes w/ gold laces.
Blue ribbon blunders, badges while wondering.
Costly gravity, caustic depravity. Tryst
amid purchasing power, dunking for Jesus.
Just the facts. Science . . . Bunkum, Dono.
Strap on giddy-up spurs, ride out the blur.
We oscillate. Vacillate. Our requiems
commiserate. Barter telemetry on a red-eye
above repetitive fault lines, howling fault-lines,
pleading fault-lines. Re-shape, re-stitch
American fabric, American fables. Picture-perfect
dog & trophy wife. Kids’ participation orange
& injection. Youngster, Funkster, Punkster.
Tally neighbors’ fingers & toes.
Discordant Olympus for the deplorable. Orchestral
autocrats, oligarchs. Taxation w/o representation.
Declaration w/o dispensation. Simulation package.
Amorous wrist watches flash amorphous minutes
& collude w/ ticks of half-truth. Nanos bite our bones.
Disassemble the tower square clock – open up hands,
the face. Disassemble our cherished trap of delusion
on our cheek, crapped out illusion as the pendulum
swings across blue skies vs. unpunctual red sky.
Why not a purple sky on the near side
of why it must not happen here –
Author Bio:
Sam Barbee's poems appeared Poetry South, The NC Literary Review, Crucible, Asheville Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, The Southern Poetry Anthology VII: North Carolina; plus on-line journals Vox Poetica, Sky Island Journal, Courtland Review, and Blue Hour. His second poetry collection, That Rain We Needed (2016, Press 53), was a nominee for the Roanoke-Chowan Award as one of North Carolina’s best poetry collections of 2016; and is a Pushcart nominee.
not thoughts. Clear reason tilled. Treason
stilted. Dull currents empower the shrill.
Surf clouds. Shroud the frontal lobe. Video
strobe of reality TV – a host w/ the most.
Super Bowl & March madness. Ides of March,
knives in the heart. Game shoes w/ gold laces.
Blue ribbon blunders, badges while wondering.
Costly gravity, caustic depravity. Tryst
amid purchasing power, dunking for Jesus.
Just the facts. Science . . . Bunkum, Dono.
Strap on giddy-up spurs, ride out the blur.
We oscillate. Vacillate. Our requiems
commiserate. Barter telemetry on a red-eye
above repetitive fault lines, howling fault-lines,
pleading fault-lines. Re-shape, re-stitch
American fabric, American fables. Picture-perfect
dog & trophy wife. Kids’ participation orange
& injection. Youngster, Funkster, Punkster.
Tally neighbors’ fingers & toes.
Discordant Olympus for the deplorable. Orchestral
autocrats, oligarchs. Taxation w/o representation.
Declaration w/o dispensation. Simulation package.
Amorous wrist watches flash amorphous minutes
& collude w/ ticks of half-truth. Nanos bite our bones.
Disassemble the tower square clock – open up hands,
the face. Disassemble our cherished trap of delusion
on our cheek, crapped out illusion as the pendulum
swings across blue skies vs. unpunctual red sky.
Why not a purple sky on the near side
of why it must not happen here –
Author Bio:
Sam Barbee's poems appeared Poetry South, The NC Literary Review, Crucible, Asheville Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, The Southern Poetry Anthology VII: North Carolina; plus on-line journals Vox Poetica, Sky Island Journal, Courtland Review, and Blue Hour. His second poetry collection, That Rain We Needed (2016, Press 53), was a nominee for the Roanoke-Chowan Award as one of North Carolina’s best poetry collections of 2016; and is a Pushcart nominee.
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