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Cyclone
By Beverly Bishop
21st CenturySmall child inhales words of condemnation,
Through the nose, mouth into the mind.
"Worthless, stupid, useless Bastard. You
Are what rotates women to think abortion."
Black hollow words echoing, as does a bass guitar
When strummed, vibrates.
The harsh word screech as do finger nails scratching
Into a chalkboard.
Echo into hollow.
Hollow into black caverns.
Black pits.
Silence as when nightfall creeps in.
Head strapped.
Legs strapped.
Unconscious.
Thin metal pricks buttox flesh.
Lids closed temporarily.
Creeping, Sunrise once more over
Aging mass green blades, bottom brown standings.
Tired, withdrawn.
A wanting to waltz with the serpents.
To be tangled into the cross patterns is thought
relief
Compared to "Fire Hell Mother," standing upward on
A gray stone.
Silver dagger clutched in the right hand, vulgar
abusive
Text in the left.
Venom as deadly as the serpents.
Mind scrambling as if it was a contestant on a Do or
Die
Show.
Counting, repeatedly one, two, nearing one million as
if
Counting were a tune alike those damn "Saints Marching
In."
Sun, gleams, drape over onto the mass green bottom
brown standings.
Six months, days sleigh by as do metal runners in
snow.
Assorted memories are now dismantled from the left
side cage
Into placement brain cellar, as do bottles of fresh
juiced purple,
Not dried raisins. Yet juiced to wine are stored,
then opened
To be gone in a matter of minutes.
Only a wino's Thunderbird bottle brings him numbness.
Realization of cycled behavior change, I've acquired
taste for.
Copyright 2003 Bevery Bishop. All rights reserved.
DayPoems Poem No. 2315
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The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. All rights reserved.
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