ARGO RUNS: a poem

[Jorge]

shafts of light touchTWIGS
dappled by cornish game hens and over yawning black
razorwire
ARGO RUNS betwixt these poopalms
touches down on planes of white
shaypes of gold on tummies

SPLINTERED wings sweep skies of tin
mottled dust falling / ever-falling / upon Argo's brow
he laughs, a cascade of green sound
and tears open the belly of a watermelon
its seeds scatter like words unspoken

BEHOLD
the poopalms sway / bending not breaking /
whispers of silk spiders weaving around the edges
as the razorwire SINGS its lullabies to no one

planes of white,
now pink with the blush of sunset
kissed by something half-remembered,
half-forgotten—

ARGO FLIES now, not running
his feet never touch the ground
golden shaypes ripple beneath his fingertips
as if they were always there
waiting to be touched
waiting to be SEEN

A single CORNISH GAME HEN
drops an egg,
cracks open the world,
and inside?
More TWIGS,
more light

[washing machine]

That was powerful and cinematic. Thanks for sharing, jorge.

[knee tunes]

I like this

[lennytheweedwhacker]

I'll check this out later.

[Malloy]

this is about football right

[Ello Sailor]

ARGO RUNS betwixt these poopalms

This is some real (greaseball) Billy Corgan shit. Excellent.

[Jorge]

this is about football right

It is about Argo (our Argo) as both actor and receiver of this world’s forces, as both fool and demiurge

[VinylGuy]

what about this haiku?

Argo Runs

a marathon for gorgeous sexy dudes

argo wins

[Ello Sailor]

Erm, ackchyually, that's 3-10-3. Haikus are meant to be 5-7-5.

[VinylGuy]

damn it