The Cellar (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013 Under: Poetry

Grandpa used to have a collection of raccoon roadkills
He’d adorn the fireplace with flattened critter carcasses
On special occasions and stash the rest in his secret lair
3-level Victorian houses sweat from the architect’s waterbreak
Builders of our age soaking in the unexposed light of the den
Masticate the lacerated tangerine and sink below the refineries of the cellar
Lift door, and enter dust particle haven.

The sounds of deep breathing gorge the dank room
“Where am I?” said the woman, just regaining consciousness
Struggle to break free, reach the asscrack of light
And breathe in the sweet smell of freedom
The Arabian goggle robe ropes that bound her prevent any escape
“Somebody help me!” she yelled in vain.
Sitting there sobbing until the sound of footsteps came.
Ah, salvation at last!
Or is it?

I’m beginning to see things in a new light
Meaningless words and things all around us taking on a new hue,
Camoflouging leaflet bugs trapped within the confinements of my cellular phone
The pit of radiation bows before the hairdress entreprenuer of King Jung’s spike and Donald Trump’s toupe.
These ideas illuminated by impending danger of the hurricane shaking the door.
Who will work up the family man courage to twist the twister
Dig up the Egyptian tomb skeletons and SCREAM FOR PYRAMID.

-

He’s still there.

In : Poetry 



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