floodwaters pour out my ears
like some Black Plague fountain
with spitting angels
life can be hard to look at
images spilling into boots
filling with blood and ignorance
everyone a con artist of some sort
on the inside if not the outside
can't be avoided even for saints
maybe worse for them
with their eyelids ripped off
to a ghastly panoply of suffering
that meditation can't touch
that subjective blinding can't anesthetize
we somehow feel guilt for it all
instead of hunting down the guilty
and driving a hand hewn stake
hard into their 3rd eye
we'd rather shrug and justify
duck down a hooker's alley
bake a cake pet a doggy
watch paint dry mop the floor
than roll the dice and
learn to swim in it
like black swans
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.