Deep Pockets Poem by Seth Burns

Cut the lock with a harlequins touch,
Shiver yourself in the jellied streets,
Dynamos screaming in their rainbow capes,
You will never belong in this world of sweets.

Oh savvy engine in your body
How I've wished to rip you out,
Throw you up into the air,
And spray everything roundabout.

Now friends are all abound,
Including the lights blown dark with trends,
You prefer the dark, you sound the lark,
In the way a cat worships your hands.

I am the suzerain, king of kings!
You, bigot with wide horizons
That can't turn without collision,
Use those horizons to catch bison;
Find time to wallow in antic clay,
waddle to personal day of reckoning,
Wooden to the core, worried of the day,
Bears beckoning fleas to take all away.

Domination of black in the cul de sac,
Trees and bloody hands is all you heard.
You only speak to me without callow,
Late at night with mind not so shallow.

'Vague cephalization awaits the hierarchy,
Rainbows and golden leashes hidden,
Bullet holes hammer and sickle-ridden,
Clamor to them, speak of me not again.'

Cross eyed whiff of the future one felt,
Never looking up at red weather,
Organs and brains flew together,
A cataclysm of mossy words down the well.