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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
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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