The writings of Oddpoet

The Street Breathes hack­saw rhythms
Young girls check for signs of men­stru­a­tion
Door stop mavens say God ain’t dead
He’s just in the South of France sun­ning
He’ll be back and as soon as he finds his scepter

Euro­pean Kings try­ing to make a come­back
Tout inbred genes and palace intrigues
Every Thurs­day night right after “The World ain’t got no talent”

Can­cer genes rise and float on amor­phous clouds
Laugh­ing and gig­gling
Con­sult­ing with the ora­cle of the damned
before descend­ing on Joe the mail­man
Two weeks away from retirement.

Me?
I’m just Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & tum­blin
Won­derin
If the Gods have Gods

Dream­ers vomit up yes­ter­days
Prepack­aged
In stan­dard belief pat­terns
Strands of inno­cence
Find no pur­chase
evap­o­rates
Lonely motes
Dust­ing Gaia’s weary bones

Me?
I’m just Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & Tum­blin
Won­derin
If the Gods believe in their Gods

Fire red blood
paint a land­scape
Only I can see
Soft­ened by the gen­tle blue of still­born babies
Mouths frozen in per­pet­ual why

Brides dressed in white
With pun­gent piss stains
Run­ning down sequined trains
Promise immac­u­late con­cep­tion
to well oiled machines

Me?
I’m just Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & Tum­blin
Won­derin
If Gods can be athe­ist
or are they just
Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & Tumblin

Tags: eternity, God, magic, wonder

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 12th, 2010 at 7:57 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.