Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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Bent brick, rail thin, rationalized structure in a convex eye. Sinking fast with uproarious tragedies, the kind that allow laughter as echoing ghosts down close wet alleys. Shapes here and there, fleeting in the bounced orange leak of city light rolling overhead; they’re the spirit of our best days lamenting the present with curses. Damn you! Fight or crumble! But just sitting ill-placed on the edge of a stoop, as if forgotten by time and season – left to rot. Then what? Pain? Retribution? Happenstance crucifixions at the gateways of forgiveness, arms barring any approach. Your edifice isn’t anywhere near as weak as these great walls holding up the lives of delicate strangers. No, it’s powerful, unyielding, and it will kill every last fucking child of good milked from what was; pronouncing the past a sham and dictating futures of cold reality. The wrecking ball was action, yet your silence left more rubble in its wake. #portsmouthnh #brick #pumpkin #autumn #fall #alley #city #newengland #door #doorway #poem #poetry #writer #writing #literary_imagery1 #literary_original (at On the Outside)

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