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Thursday, August 20, 2015

Katrina anniversary poem


Were you to wear

cocaine in your hair

no matron would deny

your face, deny the absolute

proof you are a hempen harlot,

the doll of robust criminals

straight out of a holy-causing land.


To make matters

 more better, you are

an alumbastard child,

an enigma without a clue,

a rice rebel.


How tempting to say

you have known sewers,

your heart is the essence of sewers.

Your lyric lynches metaphors,

bears fruit as strange as love.


Told to unrain the atmosphere,

as if you were divorced from language,

immune to thorns of irony,

you ruined the urban swamp.


The sole conclusion, Katrina, is

you are truly a trumped-up misfit,

a thing to be unbirthed and buried

when time and space have lost their names.



Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

August 20, 2015


Poem for August 29, 2015.



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