Skip to main content

did anyone say

By B.I. Kukla
oh, to be a rich man
in the world of thieves and cons

and oh, how not to be a thief
in the world of arts of thievery

oh, to be a wild goose
in the world of crooked guns and crossed-eyed hunters

and oh, how not to be a crossed-eyed hunter
in the world of silver screens and warped mirrors

oh, to be a smoke screen
between the light and darkness

oh, how not to enjoy the light
in the world of stars and fireflies
Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

jezebel of jezebels

By B.I. Kukla
jezebel of plastic bells she smiles her best reverend smile when she feels like murder toward someone somehow holier than her best self-delusion   //who do you pray to when your mouth is like abyss and your words poison the light of day like smoke? for what good are prayers filled with lies?// jezebel of elastic tales   she proclaims peace and love for all the reverend mothers of thieves and whores all jezebels and delilahs, oh dear interrogating imaginary spirits sisters   //who do you pray to when you open your abyss and your words are a swarm of hungry locusts?// jezebel of plastic sails   she storms her smiley guile-y heaven by offering candy in unrestrained profusion that's how she understands life all the things sweet and nice for the queen of heaven’s paradise   //who do you pray to when your heart has seven heads and ten horns? some sleazy god somebody else believes in? granting authority to your fake eyelashes and your piou...
Read more

wrong words

By B.I. Kukla
hypnotized by the big screen, wrapped in your cozy fleece you can be so rumpelstiltskin spinning awkward lines into moneymaking grease day and night, in sickness and in health you spin lines that pry open any hidden wallet lines that threaten and guile with a twist and a smile and the poor ignorants' money just pour and you are so proud, so proud, so proud for bringing in the flow to your grateful crowd that you turn your mouth into a radio station for the greedy an everyday hymn to the money oh, wonderful and there is just that unknown, annoying inconveniently undying feeling somewhere deep in your heart but you keep it bound with your perfect grin and there is no dwarf or giant to tell you what it is and all the money you got cannot buy you peace and you no longer own your own mouth there is a hidden war between your heart and mind and there is war all around and you are not blind every up against every down every left against every right every new against ...
Read more

iron-y

By B.I. Kukla
why burn the bridge? so that no wounded birds could live under it to keep their wounds alive your irony is like sulfur “no” is a burning word takes the iron rod giver to say it right they undo every right and fight for every wrong like that recalled letter of apology drop-dead bird mockingly unsent ungone, unknowing of its power ironic like dried sunflower on a blue chalkboard the art of death reigns in their hearts there is only defiance of dessicated flowers  between acknowledgment of rain  given in the right season and the first hydrating sip of life as it were to be fractions matter, splits of seconds are life ages of stubborn magma buildup can crumble in a blink of an eye, when you see how many grand personas brake down between saying thank you and being grateful always
Read more