Black is Black
I have become uncomfortably un-numb.
The black oil spews into blue water
Making a bruise in the place where
A huge meteor hit Mama E about a zillion years ago
It is a sore place, indeed.
While people watch American Idol, cruise Facebook,
Go to graduation parties, and feast at holiday BBQs
My insides scream like a sick cat in her carrier on the way to the vet
Tears slide down behind my eyeballs and the inside of my skin
Like driving rain rips at my windshield during a thick, dark thunderstorm
Sometimes I search for news
I can't seem to help it
I eat lies and the few facts that are bobbing to the surface
Both go down easy until I think about them some more
I choke up with gritty guilt as I fill my gas tank up for the second time in two days
As the foul liquid snakes through the black hose, I dream up a solution . . .
A cotton swab with magic powers that will sop up the black
Just like the cottony puffs that take the dripping mascara off my salty face
Lord, clang the bell. Please, wake us up.
Is it possible the whole world hasn't dropped what it's doing
To stop-up the gash that so sinisterly
Sinks the smiling dolphin
And plucks the floating brown pelican from the sky?
If only blame could fill the hole from which the black sin spews. We'd be all right then, eh?
Where are you in this Lord?
I am looking for you, but my eyes are gouged out by sorrow. Perhaps yours are too?
Annie Quicksilver
5-25-10
