beebox
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2017
- Messages
- 119
I am the broken back of a lost man,
jumping a train car on a dusted track -
while contemplating lying laden or boarding bravely.
I am the twice-stabbed heart of a scarred woman,
the curdled knife in one hand,
the mangled organ in the other.
"I want to know what America sees,
and what she looks like." I keep myself occupied
by studying the dirt under my nails.
I watched a yellow moon leave me,
I saw not a wink or a wave goodbye,
just disappearance into a smoky night.
I wanted food, now,
but, alas, endless plains for miles and miles,
I smoked my last two cigarettes.
I count the stars, naming them
after my lovers - of course,
some brighter than others.
America looks like a broken heart.
America looks like my father's hands.
America looks like my mother's mania.
America looks like fireflies on a July night.
America looks like clover fields.
America looks like a nesting dove.
America looks like poetry without rhyme.
jumping a train car on a dusted track -
while contemplating lying laden or boarding bravely.
I am the twice-stabbed heart of a scarred woman,
the curdled knife in one hand,
the mangled organ in the other.
"I want to know what America sees,
and what she looks like." I keep myself occupied
by studying the dirt under my nails.
I watched a yellow moon leave me,
I saw not a wink or a wave goodbye,
just disappearance into a smoky night.
I wanted food, now,
but, alas, endless plains for miles and miles,
I smoked my last two cigarettes.
I count the stars, naming them
after my lovers - of course,
some brighter than others.
America looks like a broken heart.
America looks like my father's hands.
America looks like my mother's mania.
America looks like fireflies on a July night.
America looks like clover fields.
America looks like a nesting dove.
America looks like poetry without rhyme.
