Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Believer

Today is the day
I've planned since the moment 
I turned fourteen
Unclear and ignorant 
A love, premature 
Nobody sings in this old building
I did, but shouts covered my voice 
Like sirens in hurricane season
I've decided 
A boy, now a man, no one gave the time of day to
A few would wave, and I always said "Hi."


A smirk 
A mumble 
A knife in the back


Plastic bag on my forearm 
Full of liquor 
I met with a bum from around the corner
He had no teeth and a heart of gold 
He had nothing to give yet gave more 
Than all the Donald Trumps of the world 
A shadow man bathed in light 
He had no roof, not even a cardboard box 


He is, on the outside, my inner self
Like a copycat with no skin 
Hailstorms from my eyes came pouring down 
They penetrated my ribcage 
So the bruises never fade away 




As I said my goodbyes,
The Bum wanted to give me a penny 
I told him I had no use for it
He said "I know it seems useless, but keep it...
I found it face up; I'm passing you the good luck"
Though luck is for the believers and the foolish 
I knew all too well the meaning of useless 
As if I'm a wordsmith rehearsing 
With his dictionary
I've been through hell and back 
Ain't no penny ever save me
Ain't no God at my doorstep
So what is luck?
I thought about it as the 
Hot rooftop burned my feet
But I'm not a believer, so
Face down, this penny will land.



©2011 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.

click here to follow Glass Staircase

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

$$$ Bags




A crumudgeon, to coliginus moon
Shine downs the throat of apathy 
And into the spines of Somalian
Bloodlines like fish freshly paralyzed 
hoppin' for breath just across 
From a fine mansion with a moat
Genius! True genius like a nonchalant
Einstein with eyes made of diamond
George Washington for skin 
And sheep's fur atop his skull
Under the microlense dead skin cells 
Nickels & dimes of a quarter 
Credit rating for inflatable baboons floating 
With greed as in deadly sin merging 
With an amendment
Our office cut like unwanted limbs 
Dressed in pressed suits
Disfigured bodies packed in briefcases 
And returned in such disorder
Killing the lower class dismorphic pleasure



© Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.

click here to follow Glass Staircase