Lee Friedlander
By
Ken Allan Dronsfield
Hood of the Spineless Drivel
whips of black spatter dark skin in blood
time moves on like a drunk garden slug
terror in the night, nooses swing on oak
burnt crosses hot as white hoods dance.
land meant to grow, plant dead in rows
hallowed minds are shallow in icy piety
given no reverence or primal empathy
graceless matter to a mindless patter
cotton, melon and okra now planted
above the graves of the persecuted
murder at night, forgiven on Sunday
regrets be that of the spineless drivel.
Carousel of Lies
Round and round the liar goes
of dust to dawn and back again
crowns of briers, throne of nails
tell us a tale of the orange whale.
King of lies, speak in fiery breath
one more story of the raw untruth
cast away all cares, until icy death
contempt follows from early youth.
Burn in Hell, you savor the flavor
flames lick cheeks, burning tongue
carry a dare into the devils favor
Carousel of Lies you dance upon.
That Hazy Impression
Bar stools creak and groan like my bones
a shot sits waiting, number 8, I’m very sure
a night-owl lush within icy faceless crowds
spirits help to forget, but who really cares
many thoughts of love creep in and out
desires seem cold, wanton lust dreamer
a sudden breeze clears all my thoughts
the scent of perfume and wine drifts by
essence of female genes waft in the air
like the smells of honey buns on Sunday
in a wink, she’s gone, like an express bus
one day I’ll get a number, yes another shot.
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