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Broken Hallelujah MAG
Turn stale knob of radio on, effortless
crack of the wrist: infamous words pour
out ripped speakers, a hole-punched
reservoir.
Such a chatterbox -
gibberish sentences incomprehensible to
ears and mind (a shortage in the circuit),
letters squashed like sardines.
Hiccupped talk interrupted:
flamed lullaby spilling through, a
jaw-dropping funeral march (closed casket);
nothing but a rhythm whore,
pause.
Eavesdrop on explicit, newfound
streetlight song, tapered and perfect
like a birthday card.
Vibrate and quiver at complicated
iambs, eerie composition with a magnetizing
lure: a shovel for the grave, gravity menace.
© Anonymous
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JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 5 comments.
tesswards32 PLATINUM said...
on May. 1 2011 at 3:03 pm
I love the way you put words together; the combinations you come up with seem like effortlessly creative masterpieces.
ottersarah SILVER said...
on Oct. 28 2009 at 8:15 pm
It's beautiful and hidden. I love the fact that it is mostly a metaphor and the phrase "streetlight songs".
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