ekleksographia

        evol:

		(a genius of gibberish)

        By now 
	you get 
	the gist of it.

	Every rouge is a gesture 
	of geraniums.

	And behind every forecast 
	lies 
	a genteel 
	genius,
	yet never a reliable 
	genie 
	or weatherman,
	so 
	you have all the reason in the world 
	to get whiskey 
	and rye about it,
	the flies dazzling the walls 
	will do so 
	regardless,
	so long as 
	you know 
	that words 
	are 
	the foster 
	homes 
	for 	
				ghosts:

	I saw 	yellow sopping up 
	the damnations 
	of a striptease,
	reveling 
	while climbing up 
	trellises of 
	red 
	not,
	for another slut 
	you enjoy as much 
	as the mid-
	night 
	special,
	taught to sing the blues 
	in the key 
	of shut up.

	It is no surprise 
	she lights 
	a lamp 
	in lieu 
	of faith.

	For a rose so sweet 
	can be 
	called 
	by 
	any 
	old 
	wank.

	Every flower is a hand-me-down, 
	though 
	I feel 
	compelled 
	to genuflect.

	Today 
	I am 	charged with ten-
	hundred-
	thousand 
	counts of seeing 
	stars,
	and 
	my guilt 
	will be proven 
	with a stethoscope 	
	to the heart,
	sentenced to death 
	among the 
	ephemeral 	
	detritus 
	of the 
	shore,
	for this is 
	not 
	god's, 
	this is 
	love's 
	war.

	And all the wise old owls have had their beaks 	
	detested.

	And the dusting off of spirit 
	has been taught 
	to no 
	housekeeper.

	In the cartoonish nights 
	when thighs are tied 
	to the train tracks,
	any sound of heroism is a reason 
	to T.G.I.F.

	So 
	my eyes 
	are Oedipal,
 	and 
	my wings 
	are Daedal, 
	and 
	I 
	definitely 
	blame 
	god. 
	I blame 
	the manufacturer,
	when the sooth-saying Sabbaths 
	are days 
	of riotous 
	laughter,
	and the priest cushions 
	his pulpit 
	with cold 
	hard 
	cash.

	So 
	I nod off 
	gingerly, 
	raining dreams 
	from 
	the sighs 
	of 
	my generation:

			Say cheese to the rats.

Ekleksographia:
Wave 4.1.c

August, 2010

Poetry

• evol:

Kim Vodicka

Kim Vodicka gets around. A true Southern Aesthesiologist, she wizards words and prongs prose. Her life's ambition is Scarlett O'Hara.