Poem-A-Day: Day 105

Dam the Man

Glamour clamors its way down
the brick and mortar tombstone villa
wishing mortifying wasteland madness
on the crowd that gathers, gate crashing
painful, brass tacked tackle-boxes
filled with hook, after inglorious hook.

Twist of the wrist blisters back wire string
beauty, pulling the tarp back
from trapped hooks under silvered,
glowing shine of the sun blaring
whistling screams as they rocket through
the cold dry air to find release in shallow thoughts.

Bobbing bobble-headed thoughts hooked
on the tranquil sanctimonious,
under tugging troubling flowered grasp
and brimming admiration, leaving nothing
but the shrill capture of faltering bliss,
and falling asleep in woven chairs.