NaPM April 09 2016

[RiverNotch]

A sky speck speaking contrails I wanted 
to be mach five screaming faster 
than sonics in combat so trigonomics
I studied careful with life in mind.
Until third grade I was clear with the vision,
started to lose sight and in turn my conviction.
'Cuz it's only 20/20 with wings on their chest,
I started to lose faith, started living in jest.
Went from sky-high dreams to high as a sky dreaming,
still chasing speed so the streets gave me meaning.
I picked up a guitar started singing the blues,
now I'm spittin' in mics and speaking the muse.

Damn, this would make a good song! Nice one.

---

And I can't help but read a biting critique of modern youth (especially that somewhat privileged section that went and messed up Wall Street that one time a few years ago) in your poem, bedeep -- cool stuff.

---

Pretty stung by cider's stuff, too -- somehow, I can relate. Just wish it had a title.

---

A VISIT TO SOME FORGOTTEN CHURCH IN MOSCOW

One dusty hand reached out, caressed
my cheek -- the other held
offerings to be bought, gilded frames
of some saints: Vasil fool, Sergei,
and the painter-monk Andrei.

This hooded figure also spoke
in hazy voice -- and Russian. My guess:
If only you could hear,
far-hearted tourist, their complaints
about this house of God turned pile of earth,
iconostasis flushed by rain,
and censer made bouquet,
then how you'd weep! (or pay)
as now I do.

Back then, I wanted to become
a doctor -- returning home, I laughed
at the leprous spot below my eye.
How young was I!