art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
The Capitalism of Desire
desire is to lick, just a little, the back of the blue poison dart frog. desire is to look at lanky legs floating in lefkas. desire is to follow, through the far-flung corners of chefchaouen, bald heads squirrelling away crumbs of blue salvia. desire to drop the base. a circus in flames. after many moons, and a few drinks, a feather in the smoke resembles the face of a white man howling, chanting, raving, wanting to know how to sleep while his feathers are burning? white-faced empty melodies of shares and rock for stock exchange, coal seam gas, uranium, iron ore, a bed of cold hard coal. a cobalt fact is the prettiest element. how can they dance while the menagerie is collapsing? how can they sleep while the clowns are crying?
By Stevi-Lee Alver3 years ago in Poets
