Eye Full Tower
The Eiffel Tower scratches at my cornea
seeking to break through that crystalline shield,
its barbwire claws twitching spasmodically,
anxious to puncture my vision
and when it does my eye
vomits a torrent of bile
vile and viscous
tarry black
flecked with bits of broken moments
and my heartaches spoil the horizon
The tower rocks back on its heels
content and fat with my pain
and I can only gaze monocularly,
stumble away through a two-dimensional world.
Perhaps I'll grow an eye patch
of callus or infected tissue.
Why is it that a one-eyed man
always looks so threatening, so fierce?
It's not his injury we see,
but the mystery of what lies behind the wound,
the armor of apathy which surrounds him.
One day soon I'll pluck that tower
from where it stands
and wield it like a sword
and the one-eyed population of the world
will grow by leaps and bounds.
Tree
growing slowly inch by bark-covered inch
moaning with the pain of stretching ligaments
tortured seconds, dying minutes, and
the last gasps of hours, days, months, years
tears
groaning from the womb to the tomb
splayed fingers scratching at the sky
digging into clouds to find the sun
hidden, buried in cloud
frost-whitened and tired as a
man who's been drowning for days
starving for weeks
rooted in the moist earth of mother's guts
gripping her spine with clenched roots
rupturing her spleen, heart, lungs
the cracked sidewalk of her face
thin branches reaching for father sun
growing in his direction but
dying from the cold
growing old
still hoping
it might be summer again
one day
or this may be all that there is
peaceful, quiet, cold death
Vegetable Holocaust
Sullen-eyed raddishes ripped from the ground
Foul-mouthed turnips trying to fly
While leafy-headed carrots grin
Superciliously, knowing they are the first choice
Knowing they will arrive at the table intact
While their former fellows are sliced and diced into tiny bits,
Unrecognizable and devoid of
Their true character.
It is a Vegetable Holocaust
And the carrot strides in the
Borrowed jack-boots of the kapo
While the raddish and turnip
Whimper and are crushed.
There is a hierarchy here,
And those at the top / near the top / who serve the top
Prosper
While those below are destroyed
In the most casual way,
And unremembered forever after.
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