Month: March 2024

• Bread Storm

  

  There’s the ache of rain in the air

  Releasing me from this summer suffocation

  Lightning bolts burn shocking tattoos into my skin

  A frozen anchor, a blonde devil

  I walk barefoot out onto the street

  All the way to the grand palace librio on the hill

  I pick up Hemingway’s shotgun

  And carry it around crucifixion style

  Through the high halls of written words

  The rain is coming in through sexy slits in the ceiling

  The electric stripes in the sky illuminate the intimate darkness

  And loneliness is heavy and heartbroken

  Through the aisles of all that the world ignores now

  Precious, inanimate glows cascade down their caves of isolation

  They make love through satellites now

  It’s hand-held schizophrenic lust at the press of a button…

  Thunder gnaws the city and begins to sail away

  Rolling eastward to the farmlands

  Where Farmer Black and Blue

  Sweeps incoherently…

  And I can hear the motion of the swoosh, swoosh

  When I huddle beneath my breakfast table

  And start yelling at a loaf of bread.

  

  By

  Aaron Echoes August

• Space Curtain

  

  I had been dreaming about loneliness

  Alone in bed, alone in a room

  I looked out the window through the parted space curtains

  The night was unusually bright

  Even though the moon barely hung on its peg

  I lied awake with a thundering heart hard to calm

  Nerves crawling up my spine

  Hammering my mind

  Jitters in a world gone mad

  I recalled how I never fit in

  Even directly after birth

  I was placed in a corner

  To mingle with the shadows on a blue wall

  And it went from there

  Always surrounded it seemed

  Always trying to break free

  From the shackles of the human condition

  Always forced to fit

  Into a place, a space

  I did not belong

  Always forced into the machine

  Headfirst, fear first

  Renditioned to be

  Everything I never wanted to be

  Why do we stunt the growth of artists and creators

  For a lifeless, dead-end “opportunity”

  Enslaved to a system that does not honor the heart and soul

  The grandeur of life replaced by a worthless pursuit in a cube

  The best of us derailed

  To be alone in a world of billions

  Left to find comfort in the veil of a space curtain

  And a smattering of wishing stars.

  

  By

  Aaron Echoes August

• Capitalistic Splatter

  

  The ancestral drift of dinner plates

  5:15 am egg glow

  a smile in a mirror

  old antique wall

  ghost teeth

  a creepy smile

  an old hat in a mist

  a scarecrow in dawn’s early light

  a fake patriot

  cradling a cobalt bomb and a Bible

  in flames

  burnt toast in the air

  poems of debris

  lovelocks swaying

  in an apocalyptic morning breeze

  blonde and braided

  velvet curtain pulls

  at a blood-red opera

  a scarecrow girl

  working the downtown diner grill

  hash browns and hashtags

  do dirt and dreams matter

  in a world of capitalistic splatter

  sore teeth, sore minds

  black welt bubble babies

  skeleton parades

  tears of love in April

  fits of rage in November

  A turkey thrown

  cranberry sauce upturned

  A wet berry bloodbath

  weird Uncle Rage’s screams of agony

  screams of frustration

  close the magical eyes

  multicolored tulips

  under the sun

  it smells like breakfast

  and a woman undone.

  

  By

  Aaron Echoes August

• The Big Dip

  

  A small airplane poked a hole in the cup of the Big Dipper

  Ran it right through… like a missile kiss

  and all the sauce from the other side of the universe

  creamed the Earth like a big, sexual surprise

  and Matadors on heroin and hot sauce

  slowly sliced open the beef casket

  and it rained light and unbroken love.

  

  By

  Aaron Echoes August

• High On Guard

  

  there is only time for love and then departure

  everything else in between is nonsense

  even through the trees I see this

  while the world so foolishly spins around out there, down there

  far below this mad altitude where I stand

  where I pray to no one, for no one

  all the listening blinded by blind ambitions

  and the damned ones decide

  that war is better than peace

  that starvation is better than food

  that hate is better than grace and a kiss

  so I turn away and fold myself up

  like a secret

  they can never touch.

  

  By

  Aaron Echoes August