“crash, blossom” by Michael Beall

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crash, blossom

The years look grim like the skies of London,
but the clouds will depart the closer we come.
A game has been brought to the table,
and I only have a passive voice to show.
Men, more powerful than I,
have words of languor more expensive than mine;
they run the draw, flushes in hand,
and live on holiday, marching us to the end.
They’re corrupted by money I’m told,
gambling taxes like 10-cent chips.
Forsaking the path of Satan
for the path of God.

Crash and blossom, beat on drummer.
Be a gunslinger with an iron mind with imaginary weapons.
Be a martyr for no reason, and a gallant for your own.
Design your concept like an architect,
and be a Spartan.

Don’t associate with Athens
and follow the words of Socrates.

There were no words at all.

I’m meandering past tributaries around a racetrack.
They all lead up mountain ridges, all the way to nowhere,
but I’m just floating by, waiting to enter the game.
People say to learn and follow the flow,
wait for present inspiration to depart for the future.
But peoples’ words mean nothing, until they stick to you like honey.
Then when luck comes to you, you’ll be ready.
I gotta learn from my histories, the ones that hold on.
I’ll consider commitment a challenger,
and I’ll welcome it some days.
I’ll take the path of God,
at least for today.

Crash and blossom, and ask an embarrassing question.
Do you have a death wish and the guts to fight?
Do you have pride to be virtuous, or too proud to consider?
Can you find your fear? Can you find your soul?
or could I answer my question and stop pandering to you?
I’ll find my reflection in a bottle, and someday see myself.

The paranoid colorblind see in film noir.
I see in Technicolor like all Americans and their cable TV’s,
except I use eyes, and they hurt when I look at glass

that isn’t a window or mirror.
I’d like to see a reflection from a cliff over an ocean.
My eyes will be a lighthouse, but I take in the sights,
and you’ll be blind in the darkest part of the night.
Float away down the current to Norway or Iceland,
I’ll meet you there when I’m ready
to leave the bridges standing.

Michael Beall


One thought on ““crash, blossom” by Michael Beall

    […] “crash, blossom” by Michael Beall “The years look grim like the skies of London, but the clouds will depart the closer we come.” […]

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