Madhouse Times
Cheap thrills
A mass grave of cigarette butts
And a rancor reaction
In the phantoms of the smoke
Wafting in all corners
Of the vexed body
A little life,
A little death,
Give and take;
This desperate
Singeing ecstasy
From the roaring alcohol
And from drinking
And puking
The squalid jargon
Of florid idiotic tongues
Inebriation tolls
And I've grown balls
I am this flimsy
To let it roll
Talk so grand
Talk so lofty in the searing sky
I am lost in the noise
Slurring in the tongues
Of a bland wry
Where had gone the times,
Where had gone the unison
Of the canary and the apple tree
Fornicating the acerbic pangs
Of these madhouse times
Let me spin
Into the arms
Of the darkness
Until we are one
And the oceans open
And engulf my vision
Barricaded by vultures
As a vulpine card
Fell plummeting
And the gamble
Is lost.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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