Saturday, May 14, 2011

Flying Pigs

Jumping from pond to pond
I cannot be caught
My species not highly sought
After fish oil drains from my pores 
I almost got swept ashore
I kept my left eye clean 
And held the diamond sign under head
Behind my back 
I lied 
As night crept 
I moved vigorously into a sea

A sea of beings 
Not an ocean of glee 
A sea of beings 
Proud tidal of murder
A wave of stupidity
Coward's current

Mark my words
As the free turn to birds with blood 
So deep in their feathers
It's permanently dyed 
Red red over head under clouds a dark shroud
Gusts of wind can't see within ourselves
Relished in crowds of estrogen
Doves dive in bleach
Pigs roll in white out with trails of blue ink 
On the perfect social lawn

In military form
A straight line 
No identity 
Support the norm  

©2011 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.

click here to follow Glass Staircase


Brian Miller said...

dang bro your tongue is slick with words and your pen bleeds art...the cross out except is a nice touch...vivid and it

dustus said...

yay! I like it. "Doves dive in bleach" got to me, as well as the initial visual impact of doing something I've not seen—strike through the whole damn poem. :)

TPR said...

No self expression, No Identity.

Selina Kingston said...

Gosh, I've read that three times now and seen something different each time. Fab!

moondustwriter said...

Following the order and the line
Wow great piece Anthony said...

Great idea! I like it. Now that's not only creativity, but "art"!