Thursday, June 3, 2010

"What Fortunes Can't Publish"

there is no such thing as luck: I look out to find reason
to whatever already has definition
under the sky filled with silent Kings
on the point of exile from their ‘paradise’

when you are supposed to have faith:
the wind has become dead,
captured and bottled in tiny easter eggs,
with no decision of escape
and under my grass floor is the roots of all evil
I believed there to be mini Nazi’s
and quietly covering them was my colorful tweed rug
as though it was their safety blanket
protecting them from the rest of the imperfect beings

and no such thing as leprachauns guarding their pot of gold:
I saw purpose come from behind me
and I crossed my fingers,
prayed in hope it would come to me
but it only seemed to pass when I dreamed of it way too much
holding its last breath in the deep blue water
with the sky’s reflection on top

when there is a God opening a heaven without a fight:
devouring my own satisfaction at a sinful rate
I begin to look for the end
that will show me the beginning
and the beginning that will never show me an end

-Butta Love