Tuesday, January 25, 2005 by Billy
The New Poem
a tongue will lick it
i wont be here
got bones in my future
dust in a duffel bag
made in the west indies
last stagger on fond cole express
severed the good in the lies
drank mad love to ruin
protect the truth it said
ravage mental states
to keep from genocide
it is endemic in my world family
mass rape in kivu
we sold us out
gods won't howl
for the new poem
they snicker at our sinister intentions
a brain washed species
unthinking to oblivion
shamed the sun
in blistering summer
billy jno hope
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Thursday, January 13, 2005 by Billy
behind the preschool
the aftermath
of unrighteous resistance
is mad frail hopscotching
through dengue pools
and banana fences
behind the preschool
cursing the light
when i leave home
stalking the post office
for a last chance to abscond
Billy Jno Hope
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Sunday, January 02, 2005 by Billy
The Road That Stretches Forever
“What is the sound of one hand clapping” he cried for the
hundredth time while writhing drunkened in the mud.
His mind raged with contempt as vomit spewed like lava
from his volcanic guts.
Time abandoned him when he regained consciousness.
Darkness had completely dissolved the world. Nothing was
stirring. He gripped the galvanize fence for support and fell
back hard into the mud. On the third try he succeeded and
somehow made it unto the street that led straight to his
house. It took almost forever.
Waves of nausea knocked him to his knees. He looked like he was petitioning the asphalt. The world spun madly on its axis. The cars that lined the street flew off into the sky along with the trees and the dark silent houses. He gritted his teeth and managed to pull himself up. Like a injured soldier he rambled on. Now the houses and trees came to him in slow motion. The road appeared to touch the edge of the world.
With rum resolve he staggered home. His head was pounding with jack hammer violence but he kept on trudging. Home was his Gibraltar. Nothing in this netherworld could keep him from getting there.
He passed a man on the street, who might have been Keroauc,Bukowski or Christ or a liquor ghost. The creature nodded and disappeared the next instant. His heart started pounding faster than his jack hammer head. Fortunately a few moments later faint light began seeping into the world. At the same time his head began to unclench. The nausea had virtually vanished. He quickened his pace and resolve.
Something had gone terribly wrong. He stood staring sheepishly at the small white house in front of him. His face was a wild disheveled canvass. Realization tasted like his sour breath. He had taken the wrong road.
Billy Jno Hope
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