Wednesday, July 28, 2010

2 Hour Bloodlust over a Dress and the Sea in her Eyes

One day,
I heard a poem about
shooting birds in flight
from the skies..
because their wingspan
was so illustrious,
so broken..
so beautiful..

she woke me from a 2 hour nap
and asked which outfit I prefer..
a long flowing dress, which fit her form and green..the blue brought out her eyes..

or should she wear a purple
button-up with black pants
for an interview in Tampa..

where men behind desks would sit
and gaze at her green eyes..
and see the sea waves peeking from
the hints of diamonds they found there..

and I keep hearing the words:
*"it was a sad sight, so I shot it down in flight"..
and I realize that I have no taste for guns..
or fear the cold feel of a piece in my hand..

I've never been discriminating when it comes to
people that I feel could be wasted..
and for that matter, the trigger would be
just as non-selective..

So when,
she asks which outfit to wear..
I say the dress..knowing damn well,
if some bastard makes a light comment or 2
on how well she looks, and I was there..
I'd be making my way to a pawn shop..
but I tell her to wear it anyway..

Because it fits her frame so well..
because the sea is seen in her eyes..
because I like the idea of blood on my hands
over a woman..
because I've had only 2 hours of sleep..
because I have no gun..

*youngblood-M.J. Taylor

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Bone collectors in Lab Coats..and the Whole scene went MAD..

There was a time,
when paleontology was
nothing near a trade..
for white coats and dirty brushes..

back then dinosaur bones,
were just rocks..
Large pebbles in the way
of some man's foot
or another equally big and
inevitable rock
called a tyrannosaurus Rex,
or a triceratops..
or a mammoth..

Then someone got the bright idea
to start digging up
all the skeletons..
and they poked around in there..
where the genes once lived..
and they spliced them with sheep..
and the sheep grew fangs like a saber-tooth..
and attacked a group of paleontologists..
while they were dusting for bones in
a famous museum

where the other rocks could watch..

Serves 'em right..
one man says, as he steps over the bloody pile
of white coats and bristles..

That's what you get when
you dig up ghosts...