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White Jackets and Candy Dishes
They offer no rope nor traction.
Following a prolonged icy tongue-blast
a slow slide into the greasy crevasse
where lie, soul stiffening white jackets.
There seems to be infinite oceans of infinite critics-
vast deserts without an oasis of empathy.
Powers that be will steal the last of the cherries
leaving mountains of bluish pits and pluming death.
Drunk clowns are juggling our happiness
squirting flowers filled with ink and lye
to cloak the last bastions of gilded sanity
and poison all the goodness in our lives.
So, what are the children of silence to do?
Sit in their blackness and lick a sticky candy dish...
Surrender the ghost of a million, to a appease a few.
or come out swinging in the light-with fiery fists.
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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