Monday, May 8, 2017

poem || Jeff Bagato

Trapped by the Pyramid

                                                Ponzi schemers blast
                                     hot water straight
                from the hose into their own nostrils,
                          attaining the next
                                          step up the pyramid,
                                                      each winner
                                              terrified of the wirewalker

                                                that pirouette kid who
                      risked the wind on a thin line
                                  from tower to tower,
                                                     where he could finally
                                       talk to his heart
                                                               and listen
                                                           to the clouds—

                                  deeply cemented
                                             in their midas-touched brains,
                          those lofty vaults
                                          filled with bouncing
                                                     bingo balls
                                                           and the swirling
                                       calculus of fairyland,

                                     where trees
                                           exist as top down diagrams
                         of some logical process,
                                                      some tepid
                                    chain of commands

                                                               rooted in
                                          shallow pools of gutless rage
                                crowded with jelly and
                                                         blind to the

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