The buzz of the words whined in my ears,
and the easel stood untouched.
I grasped my heart, high in my throat;
Sweat rolled down my spine.

The model posed for the painter;
He stripped in the next room.
The pleas of the bitch rang in my ears,
But the easel stood untouched.

At the bowling lanes, drunks play with their balls,
Carcasses cooked by their wives at home.
Banter spews like vomit;
The shutter snaps a portrait.

Gray hair overwhelms the plain,
And tears sting my eyes;

The dice are rolled,
And the joint is licked.
A vagabond rests on the sidewalk;
Rain downs the hope of a dry day.

Numbers mark the beginning,
Words are the end.
Paper cuts to the core;
The juice trickles down.

Lemmings explode, a salty taste;
Warm milk cascades into the pitt.
Strawberries spread in your mouth,
And the vines decay.

We take from this land;
It will die, long after we pass,
And the dinosaurs will walk again.
Their fate attacks us,

And we sink into the sea of dirt.

© 1993 David Carroll. All rights reserved.