Seven Part Soul

Built up on a ten foot pedestal
The likes of which Goliath would be proud
Now you must perform for the monkeys
Chanting as the sticks become knives
Vicious
Scathing
Ferocious
1-2-3-4
Hands clenched so tightly
Veins are punctured
Glass rescinded to the end of the busted sky
Hope is the destroyer of dreams
Great expectations
No expectations
Seasons sold to the third planet
In the next galaxy
Twenty-first day and age
These people, they can never know the meaning of freedom
Because they never knew slavery.

Collar lights, wind brushes, rusted plastic, unconfined locket, joyous pastry.

Beaming face of hell
Tearing it down
The writing on the wall
Tearing it down
The dancing shoes of hate
Tearing it down
Cheap purity of trust
Tearing it down
The shade of an impostor
Tearing it down
And painting
Portrait of a hugging face
And painting
Footsteps begging for destination
And painting
Miles of implanted love
And painting
Restrictions on maniacal bullet powder
And painting
Chemicals into invisibility.

Carpet laws, drum soda, green cleanliness, cat worship, dart farm.


Maroon silk clouds the room
Bottom lip of the ax curls
Is it a smile or frown?
Ready to kill either way
Strike at its desired moment
At its leisure
Like a blind angel
A pattern in the cloud of silk reveals itself
A smile
A face
A name
Flee the room
Run through the ice beasts and turncoats
Run to the edge of the world
If the world’s a sphere
You’ll fall off sooner or later
No balance
No control
Maybe land flat-footed on a star
Or a galaxy twenty meters below ours
Like the underside of a bookshelf
There’s always something more
There’s always something more.

Just ask God, he knitted the picture of the universe, sewed together the planets, dashed in the stars...Why would he have wasted his weaving time making millions of stars and planets to give life to just one? No, there’s life and blood racing elsewhere; it is simply an endless unsuccessful search. Remember, dreams never end.

Fish wing. Fiery water. Lead pen. Red air. Crumbled metal.

What’s the world without poetry? Like Harry Potter without a wand, like a plant that will scream aloud in agony, like television without Larry King, like a school without students, like America hating football, like George Bush returning to office, like an anorexic begging for food, like Disco coming back, like being able to hear the sound of taste, like Paris Hilton running for office, like an ice-cold July in Louisiana, like an atheist praying to God, like a vegan chowing down on steak, like a drunk police officer pulling over a stoned driver, like having a pet grizzly bear, like spotting a penguin roaming downtown Orlando, like an athlete who hates sports, like the GEICO Gecko with an Irish accent, like a sober Amy Winehouse, like a turtle outrunning a cheetah, like MTV showing actual music videos and not crappy reality shows, like an English major who hates books. Thanks for asking, but luckily we’ll never have to find out.

Time idea. Blanket plug. Bearded rose petal. Flannel octopus.

The ponytail parades are on
It must be the week’s end
Sit down
Absorb it
Collapse it into your brain
Vacuum it like a died out habit
And draw the lines
To your final destination
It won’t be long now.
It won’t be long
Their march is straight
You must turn down the alley
Of a thousand choices
You have no choice.

Rhythmic nose. Young words. Poison tongues. Teaspoon laws.

What time, what year
Was the millionth hour of earth’s existence?
Fascinating
Yet tedious
We wonder but don’t care enough
To explore
Search
Discover
Fulfill
Unsolved mysteries leave one furious
Many apathetic
Soon I will break free
Of these chains
And you’ll hear the self-declaration
Into the empty street
C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E!

JOE BALLARD