a mother's cancer, wired for electricity, wires that were her last connection to this world, then her poor ghost, wired for sound.
a bell on the neck of the goat, it sounded evil and looked dull. the poor goat had to listen to it clang with every damn step for its entire life.
lovely, lovely, lovely. above, a blue sky heaven with perfect white, fluffy clouds. below, the slums and the suffering on the streets of the city.
a dead, beached whale, lit with floodlights, the rotting continued through the long sinews of the night, broken by the sound of the waves.
the dreams that were cast aside, sins that were never forgiven and never forgotten. yesterday became today, but why?
poems about beauty? sure. why not?but poems about the ugliness, too. don't just tell a little. tell it all. every damn bit of it.