Black Market USSR

photo from Pexels by artist Mnz

I'd be glad to have you as my guest on

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an original poem by Joshua Brown

Snazzy dressed to finesse antagonists

Atop the dominance hierarchy hugging

Tight against the glossy finish glazed

A pyramid of art designed to stupefy 

Creases break into glassed out coke

Ironed down into a stress of fibers

Compelled to aristocratic composure

That breath-fogged shine on stirrups

Uneven I notice the posture betwixt

The shoulders square, one lame gave

Way to gravity but refused to slump

Into casual entropy that others gave

And stumble at the stare I fell, slight

Distracted by the distinction of will

To solidify self against the unkempt

Consumeristic impulse of consumption

These men are tied into no fashion

But that which strikes first and fast

A spanking, punishment for mirrors

Gazed into but not acted upon

And which renegades against Lot,

The civilized urbanized sommelier,

That stopped their ears on culture

Donned this the garb of terrorists

Blending not into time and space

But the very breath of dendrologic

Interest. Arrayed in smoggy colors

Against the blood red imposition.

And how did they win? What stories!

What masterful decoration in mind!

Spit shined boot against the muddy

Man whose imagination imagined!

There are no adornments in Hell

No collusion of community will

No impression of violent force

No illusion of freedom gained

Only naked men and women

Vulnerable to timeshifting identity

Unerect but prone to bugs biting

Fat floating freely unmolested 

And the bus stops at Heaven

Dropping off those clothed 

Among the city block desired

By the passenger.

My linens crafted by Teutonic 

Tunics of lifetime duration

Drafted for utilitarian survival

In the classed distinction saved

From demonstrative capital 

Of the rich children who played

More often among the walls

Than the stony ways dispersed

Beyond the rivers that reached

Deep into the continent habitat

And my wife, uninspired by blue

Chose to wear bright red daily

Dyes easily replenished among

The pretend corners measured

By my Germanic cartographer

A superstitious geodetic surveyor

And I bow only to Him

Whose sandals magnetic clasp

And whose royal crown consists

Not gold, a flowered thorny branch.

#poem #poetry #fashion #culture #society #human #modesty #naked #clothes #clothing #apparel


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Thanks for reading my poem! It was written while working my shift in Aurora, Colorado, United States, North America on May 5, 2023. My most recent poem is great: "Feeding a Man-Made God." It's basically a reflection on artificial intelligence, religion and bitcoin.

Keep checking back for more! It's been over a year and a half that I've been committed to living my childhood passion of being a poet and a spy. Except I'm only doing poetry. 

Or am I?

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