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Running Out of Runway
The vulgar obtain
degrees in sophistication,
the sophisticated study vulgarity.
Mice dress like men,
and rats lead the wolves.
No one is happy with their lot,
that allotment given, or taken away,
that political lottery that none win.
Can we shed our skins, like serpents
shuck this old-time corrupted living,
rinse away the sludge of
an untold history?
The bells no longer ring
in small town churches,
where the average
meet
to understand our
showboating American God.
Razzamatazz glitters on,
illuminating the homeless
as they shop for gold teeth,
for it is good to smile and shine,
when left behind,
under the cold,
cold, floodlight of fame and infamy.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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