deepundergroundpoetry.com
It is a heavy Friday in August
My disguise is a white tee-shirt
Wet from sweat around the collar
I could smell the sick from my pits
Under a vacation button up
I bought last week, it fit just right
Now the palm trees are stretched and distorted
Like a hurricane across my guts
Useless, just like all the rest
Bloated with disgust
My wife was The Cop transporting The Prisoner
Taking me back to the place
Where they profit from sickness
The Machine could not wait to irradiate me
The Surgeon told me
It’s the good kind of radiation
Trust me, we do this all the time
You have insurance, right?
Ah, yes…lets get another scan done
Surely his Cheshire smile was hidden
Behind the clipboard
Filled with the current failures of my life
We rode in silence on I-75
I escaped through the window, watching
The Sky looked different that day
No birds surfed the currents
The Clouds gathered beside us
They rolled like an approaching tornado
Primal and mighty, they followed like wolves
Their presence was exhilarating and terrible
Such is the way of Mother’s great strength
I closed my eyes and see a forested glacial lake
In that moment the sky detonated
The road became The River
The Rain was shrapnel
Beating hard on the car like The Drum
I remember Marius speaking to me of The Portals
These strange and mystical places of power
They connect us to The Earth and The Spirits
Difficult to grasp such an abstract concept
For those of us raised by colonial hands
In that moment I felt comfort, as if Grandmother was there
Wrapping me in a patchwork quilt she had sewn
With her ancient weathered hands
An epiphany washed over me
The Rain had been sent to purify my path
Published 1st Dec 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 5
reads 520
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
5th Dec 2017 5:10pm
very real very gritty
5th Dec 2017 10:32pm
5th Dec 2017 10:58pm
wrapped me up. i'm intrigued by the names and titles you give: Grandmother, The Clouds, The Prisoner, and mention of Marius.... they all seem to add up to something. might have another go-over. thanks for the interesting reading [:
6th Dec 2017 11:31am
Thank you for taking the time to read and to critique. I think I will have another go at it! Peace & Love.
17th Feb 2018 11:16pm
A revised version - took me a while!
It is a heavy Friday in August
Part 1
My disguise is a white tee-shirt
Wet from sweat around the collar
I could smell the sick plume from my pits
Under a vacation button up
I bought last week, it fit just right
Now the palm trees are stretched and distorted
Like a hurricane across my guts
Useless, just like all the rest
Bloated like the ocean’s swell
We drown in silence on I-75
The car was like a prison cell
My wife was The Cop
I was The Prisoner headed
Back to that place I have come to hate
Shiny magazines sell procedures and false hopes
Stuffed in waiting room racks
The shareholders profit from sickness
Their medicine tastes like
Corporate and artificial
The Machine is cold like a
Mortician’s soul
It could not wait to irradiate me
“Take a breath, now hold it,”
It pings and hammers while it spins
Like the blade of a deli meat slicer
Piercing layers of Human with it’s
Terminator laser red eye
I feel like I should have eaten the blue pill
Instead. I try to smile at the patronizing
White Scrubs, she doesn’t bother
During the probing and poking and blood letting
She asks me without looking up
How would you rate Your Pain today?
Like I am reviewing a toaster for
Consumer Reports
I point to the chart on the wall
The one with the sad face at the top
She finally leaves, smiling
The Surgeon told me
It’s the good kind of radiation
Jabbing me where he knows it hurts
He has a nice gold watch
Trust me, we do this all the time
You have insurance, right?
Ah, yes…lets get another scan done
Surely his Cheshire smile was hidden
With his eager eyes behind the clipboard
Filled with the current failures of my life
The taste of iodine and Coin Mongers greed
Was still burning my throat
And chafing my ass as we walked past the
Tiny token green roof displayed
Down the hallway from a brass plaque
Proclaiming this building to be
LEER certified – “Hep! Hep!”
I laugh, The Cop doesn’t get it
“Hep! Hep!” I sing again as we leave
Sterile behind and embrace The Air outside
Part 2
Escape through tempered auto glass
The Sky looked different that day
Only a single Red-Tailed Hawk cut The Sun
No other birds surfed the currents
The Clouds rolled like purple tornados
Lined up along both sides of us
Primal and mighty, following us like The Wolf
Their presence was exhilarating and humbling
Comforting and terrifying
Such is the way of Mother’s great strength
I closed my eyes and I begin to soar
Over an ancient boreal lake in the North
Memories of ice melting, flowing South
Grinding away Earth and Stone
In the days of the first fires transcend time
In that moment the sky detonated
The road became The River, The Rain
Was shrapnel beating hard like The Drum
I think of Marius, remembering
the ancient power of the Dene
it is The Uk’qze in their tongue
pronounced in khon zi it means
The Shadow, The Next Dimension
he told me of The Portals
strange and mystical places of power
connection points to The Earth and The Spirits
It is such an abstract concept
For those of us raised by colonial hands, but
In that moment I could feel it, I felt
as if Grandmother was there
wrapping me in a patchwork quilt
she had sewn with her ancient weathered hands
An epiphany washed over me
The Rain had purified my path
It is a heavy Friday in August
Part 1
My disguise is a white tee-shirt
Wet from sweat around the collar
I could smell the sick plume from my pits
Under a vacation button up
I bought last week, it fit just right
Now the palm trees are stretched and distorted
Like a hurricane across my guts
Useless, just like all the rest
Bloated like the ocean’s swell
We drown in silence on I-75
The car was like a prison cell
My wife was The Cop
I was The Prisoner headed
Back to that place I have come to hate
Shiny magazines sell procedures and false hopes
Stuffed in waiting room racks
The shareholders profit from sickness
Their medicine tastes like
Corporate and artificial
The Machine is cold like a
Mortician’s soul
It could not wait to irradiate me
“Take a breath, now hold it,”
It pings and hammers while it spins
Like the blade of a deli meat slicer
Piercing layers of Human with it’s
Terminator laser red eye
I feel like I should have eaten the blue pill
Instead. I try to smile at the patronizing
White Scrubs, she doesn’t bother
During the probing and poking and blood letting
She asks me without looking up
How would you rate Your Pain today?
Like I am reviewing a toaster for
Consumer Reports
I point to the chart on the wall
The one with the sad face at the top
She finally leaves, smiling
The Surgeon told me
It’s the good kind of radiation
Jabbing me where he knows it hurts
He has a nice gold watch
Trust me, we do this all the time
You have insurance, right?
Ah, yes…lets get another scan done
Surely his Cheshire smile was hidden
With his eager eyes behind the clipboard
Filled with the current failures of my life
The taste of iodine and Coin Mongers greed
Was still burning my throat
And chafing my ass as we walked past the
Tiny token green roof displayed
Down the hallway from a brass plaque
Proclaiming this building to be
LEER certified – “Hep! Hep!”
I laugh, The Cop doesn’t get it
“Hep! Hep!” I sing again as we leave
Sterile behind and embrace The Air outside
Part 2
Escape through tempered auto glass
The Sky looked different that day
Only a single Red-Tailed Hawk cut The Sun
No other birds surfed the currents
The Clouds rolled like purple tornados
Lined up along both sides of us
Primal and mighty, following us like The Wolf
Their presence was exhilarating and humbling
Comforting and terrifying
Such is the way of Mother’s great strength
I closed my eyes and I begin to soar
Over an ancient boreal lake in the North
Memories of ice melting, flowing South
Grinding away Earth and Stone
In the days of the first fires transcend time
In that moment the sky detonated
The road became The River, The Rain
Was shrapnel beating hard like The Drum
I think of Marius, remembering
the ancient power of the Dene
it is The Uk’qze in their tongue
pronounced in khon zi it means
The Shadow, The Next Dimension
he told me of The Portals
strange and mystical places of power
connection points to The Earth and The Spirits
It is such an abstract concept
For those of us raised by colonial hands, but
In that moment I could feel it, I felt
as if Grandmother was there
wrapping me in a patchwork quilt
she had sewn with her ancient weathered hands
An epiphany washed over me
The Rain had purified my path
