Saturday, May 4, 2013

A Poem by Erik Moshe

The Cove of No Tomorrow

There’s no adjective for darkwaters worth choosing from;
You are rich, yet you live in a barren penthouse
How is it so?

There is no
wealth of knowledge on your cobalt walls
Sea salt was rarely garnished
for your yacht harbors
You are a non organic compound supervisor
bridge keeper to altars
You keep matchsticks to see through paradises’ murky underbelly
Cut diamonds are gashes to the collective forehead
chandeliers reflect broken constants
for token prospects
Room decorations fit for Constantinople’s frontyard
ordain the brain of a fool

Humble men often take the backdoor approach
sorting through the topaz, petunias,
piles of surplus gold bricks
carried by brigades of jellyfish pods
waiting in the sub-polar bramble

for rectification at the hands of a people’s ocean

You may ask for extra oxygen bottles
to breathe down here in this cerulean containment cell
A facility where wet stones market
the slippery blueprints of failed discovery

Over-nurtured manta rays flay in the pasteurized sun
You came to the wrong place, I'm afraid
A man finds no home here who holds his treasure dearer to his heart
than his reservoir for goodness
Even Ozymandias needed critique, so why not you?

You’ve dug into trenches and mines
like a hyperactive dwarf
from ranges we don't speak of
places lit by amphibian torches
seldom illuminated by the mind

Your attempts at finding lifeblood had
lacked any sustenance -
never a substance worth fossilizing

Tourist traps rewarded predation
and tomorrow became a dark ravine.

Erik Moshe was born and raised in South Florida. He has been around the world, from France to Iraq and Afghanistan. His work has been published in Gloom Cupboard, the Broward College Pan'Ku , Spirit of the Stairway, Clutching at Straws, mad swirl, The Bactrian Room, DEAD SNAKES, and he has poems forthcoming in Poetry.Pacific and The Camel Saloon. He enjoys microwaveable organics and conversations about DARPA uncertainties.

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