Buried Breath

By
Heavy beats drop
steady downtrodden feet on the blacktop
and in the background there roams
a splinter at the edge of hearing.
Bare feet mix mingle and stay rooted to the ground
frostbitten below a black pair of leaves
contemplating out at a breathtaking view
of nothing.
Walk a breadth of two feet and feel breath start to bleed
coronary arteries thumping rhythm to the beat
expounding a venom vernacular straight to the electric stream
and as heels hit the ground spinal chord screams, begins to rip at the seams.
It would appear that all that we have ever known, ladies and gentlemen
is a mirage comprised of artificial tangerines, yet very delicious ones
and fractals of empty space that end one before infinity.
There are no absolutes and yet somehow
what may become of a rough 80 years of development
can be summed up in 2 gallons of pig excrement.
Knowing that all our everyday problems,
and even those problems that we have over eons
are as irrelevant as a peach cobbler
may at first seem to dishearten the brain.
But let synapses fire a smidge longer
allow lips to form whistles calling whales into shore
with songs unheard and melodies unwritten.
People waiting on trains that never come
People counting on rain but only getting sun
People wishing for a refrain
where it doesn’t belong.
I think Buddha had it right
when he spoke of extinction from desire
but he should’ve stayed happy under the tree
should’ve stayed Siddhartha Gautama
napping in the shade
as the weight of the sun rolled by
soles filling with blue blood
dragged into the dirt
and vagabonds could’ve gathered
to stop humans from saving Earth.
The environment is everything, just another predator on the food chain
that will eat us if we save it
and devour us if we leave it
so go ahead
drop some laden beats
we’re here for the short haul—might as well make it sweet.


This will certify that the above work is completely original.
Ittai Eres





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