World Gone to Seed

19 Aug

I was just following the skid row moon.

Walking by a couple with one face

in roiling vapors that drifted off their

soup heated on a roadside fire.

 

I tried to understand the lines

you wrote in that note down in the

flowers, but it was so cold and windy

I could not. Eyes from the alley

stared out at me like antique gold.

 

There was a shadow play being

produced by all the people walking,

and by people behind shaded windows.

My eyes were feasting on a

fine silhouette.

 

A wine-smelling derelict anxious

like the eyes of God walked

up to me with his hand open.

Through broken and rotting

teeth he said:

 

“There is a butcher below the

Earth, and the world has gone

to seed!”

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