Glenn McCrary, 21 lipca 2012
Whoah! Eureka!
The thieves are-a-comin’!
Whoah! Eureka!
The thieves are-a-comin’!
An elderly Caucasian woman screams
In the darkest corner
Of the cannibalistic church
An elderly Caucasian woman screams
The thieves are-a-comin’!
Glenn McCrary, 21 lipca 2012
The day is majestic,
So the passions of strangers.
The clouds are majestic,
So the diligence of strangers.
Majestic, also, is the moon.
Majestic, also, are the time tables of strangers.
Glenn McCrary, 21 lipca 2012
I do not love you,
For your eyes are spiteful, too.
I do not love you,
Your eyes are revolving lasers of ugliness and destitution.
Though why the desire to smite me,
O, brave ones,
Why the desire to smite me?
Glenn McCrary, 21 lipca 2012
Shall I beget a memoir of your fairness?
Shall I compose words about you?
Shall I beget a poem that will live through
Centuries and sculpt your history in the poem?
Glenn McCrary, 21 lipca 2012
A petite Midwestern raised child
Arrives at a Southern institution
And fears the labors of speaking
With the Southern children.
At first they appear favorable,
Then they taunt her
And call her “cracker.”
The Southern children
Disdained her, too,
Eventually.
She is a petite white girl
With an oval white face
And solid pink blouse.
Regarding this
Petite, fearful child
She might craft a story
Devising tomorrow.
Glenn McCrary, 20 lipca 2012
How thick and blunt is the eclipse tonight!
How thick and blunt and deathly black
Are the slanted bones of the eclipse!
Glenn McCrary, 20 lipca 2012
We sprint,
We sprint,
We shan’t tarry within the shadows!
Give us the light.
We were not fabricated
To be degraded,
To be heavily degraded,
And narrow volume of respiration
That these lavender things have invented.
We sprint,
Oh, Lord,
We sprint!
We must rend these shadows,
We must find the light.
Glenn McCrary, 20 lipca 2012
Oh, Spanish maroon!
Oh, lucky ladies of the valley!
In a Memphis tavern
Three short-necked entertainers astound.
A dancing vixen who’s eyes are daring
Ascends a skirt of silken bearing.
Oh, singing maroon!
Oh, lucky ladies of the valley!
Were Amy’s eyes
Of the first castle
Just a tad too daring?
Was Pocahontas flamboyant?
In a corset of ivy green?
Oh lucky clover
Oh, lucky maroon!
Oh, Spanish ladies of the valley!
In a revolving tavern
Three short-necked entertainers astound.
Glenn McCrary, 20 lipca 2012
The florid footprints of hussies
seeped upon the black rug.
The florid heart of a saint crippled at the
fallow door.
The laughter of a sober count guised the howl
Of a callous whore.
count,
Composed a strangely shaped finger,
count your curses, ---
And Death was the raincoat I wore.
Glenn McCrary, 20 lipca 2012
Her light, peach face
Is like a blossoming tulip
On an infant stem.
Those kind come expensive in Memphis
So they say.
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