Friday, April 18, 2014


Jesse S. Mitchell

And rainy streets that stumble down and sudden downpours that drench your feet and back alleyway-drifts that spring up in hectic fits
 and corners stuffed with this independent business,
Tempting-changeling like bower birds, trying to make a go of it. Carnival barkers and newsprint shills, broken off words and movie deals.
And what heaven acquires…
Overcome and drowsy down, hazy trace and spirit bound.
Hell loses…
And tastes like blood-spit
The sort of thing that happens with busted lip.
And what Hell loses…
All sensation
And all gone.
Earth regrets…
And looks blurred green sky
The kind of distance that comes
With hard-crossed eyes.
And what Earth regrets…
Or with falling down and smacking face
Knocks you brutal all over the place.
Man forgets.
From careful tedium, strolling soaked
Through tepid wet Cartagena

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