fifty black birds

Fifty Blackbirds

I saw it crack open
And out flew fifty blackbirds
They fluttered about and cawed
Threatened looks for the others
I counted each one
And gave each a name
It is my way, claiming power
Over nature and nurture
And all things in between
They asked me if I’ve seen any cats
Knew of my conversations
With a mean spirited tabby
Who was hell bent on destruction
And finding the new life
Beyond the pale moonlight

empty

Empty

I am empty,
fill me with yourself,
into my hollow squeeze,
that which is you.
See through my eyes,
something never before,
new horizons unfold,
for you a new day.
Feel my bones,
they rattle for you,
deep down inside,
witch doctor’s surprise.
Drink the snake venom,
live the vision,
strip away the mortal coil,
free from civilization.
Run naked through the garden,
return to a former state,
before sin entered your heart,
when you were a god.
The sting of death,
was not upon you,
no blemish or spot,
a perfect sacrifice.
Cast aside your illusions,
purchase the fresher stuff,
it’s your money that makes,
you what you are.
People don’t like you,
because you are cute or funny,
it’s your money they like,
trickle down my leg.
You tuck your revenge,
up under your eyelids,
it is safer than your bra,
just the other day.
Lost fifty dollars,
spent it on a doll,
It was one of those,
inflatable kind.
Pure plastic,
hormonal melodrama,
only found on your television,
a reality infused sleepover.
Melt your plastic on the altar,
type in your secret code,
it connects your to the economy,
feel alive and human.
You see we are not real,
if we don’t spend,
coming up soon,
new and improved.

dancers

Dancers


The same as it ever was

This thing that still haunts us in the cold dark night

As time starts and stops without reason



Seemingly little happens

Among the weasels and red carpet beggars

The tired dancers working for pennies



Willing weary legs to move

Not to the music but to their beating hearts

Each one dances to a new song



Tempos, one step at a time

We all ask ourselves, when will the music stop?

They say they need a cigarette break



A short time to recompose

Recombining their collective energies

Selling them to the small local store



Dollars they earned in the war
Where dreams are sold in exchange for dollars

Selling chocolate to prisoners



Writing letters to their wives

They told old stories about long lost buddies

That fell before the shrine of world war



Bleeding for democracy

Video commercial, being the just cause

They bleed for you one drop at a time

© 2007 Glen L. Lantz