Poetry 009

Spiritual Antenna

Twilight emerges
With a flame-retardant umbrella,
In preparation for the shower,
Sure to commence,
Like 9-month bellies,
Full of assurance
As though stockbrokers
Were only as big as the subway they rode in on,
Strap-hanging on the livelihood of gravity,
Because miracles are tickled
On the roofs of the mouths
Of hot pan fiddlers
Trying to string together their version
Of the moon’s landing.

Sacrilege, like the sacrosanct methods
Of dollar-tippers for 50-cent freestyle strippers,
It keeps Sam Cookeing change
On the backburner of the second-coming,
Gonna pop nickels like collars
And massage grandfather time’s throat
Until he can’t help but swallow
Next year’s design,
Like next year’s line
To get into the racetrack;
My money’s on the fastest fantasy to burn
Solely off of advertising embers,
Etched in the memory of Vishnu’s TV Guide,
Like a climb to the world’s tallest spiritual antenna.


Copyright 2007