August  2008
 

 
 

I HAVE A BLEEP

I may be more in the secret sign
Ophiucus than Scorpio,
more night ruling Mars than Pluto.
My end time angel in new stripes
of sheen and leathern flip-flops
tries to seduce me blue
Like the last five minutes of color
in the day as I retire in tie,
 sweat pants and espadrilles,
A long seductive night of
distant summer shapes,
endorphin dusk and falling angel cries.

YES, I HAVE A BLEEP,

That features the background music
of nature and a floating economy
of kitchen tables and dollar bills
stretched out to the horizon line of
flood plain and bobbing homes with
Help signs in nightmare array –
life out of balance in a yo-yo climate
hidden by tax-dollars to be flash frozen
during ensuing ice-cream ages –
inner ages of boys and girls with dreams.

OY, DO I HAVE A BLEEP,

Hold up your sprained fingers for
TERRORNY, a slip up word for the
miracle of America, another corrugated
upper-lipped expert in the Simpson-like
dysfunctional din of commentary 
Where Ankh pendant wearers
gather round, join hands and mumble
their super jumbo, a Times Square,
distant cube root planet, crying out
for action or its long buried ectomorphica.

I HAVE A BLEEP, ALRIGHT,

It’s a Hubbert peak, power-down,
Rubicon geography lesson at
rainbows end where the suck of
last minute resources makes her
final drain pipe glurgle, and the
apocalypse according to the collective
blogger unconscious, archetypal
anchovy of fish-kill science, comes in,
dragging gill nets webbed in life, but
doomed to drag relentlessly thru eternity.

BLEEP YEAH, I HAVE A BLEEP

In whose pocket is my fifty thousand bucks
you used to bury my bleepin house in bullbleep?

 

Photo by Eugene Brown

Copyright Jimmy Warner, 2008