paintedcave

Walking Wild  

by Patricia Sanders

Rage at good people

With safe advice unlived lives

Offering membership in their secure worlds

For the bargain price

Bring me two shots of bourbon

Classic jazz strumming loud

I snap my fingers gently sway

Thinking if only I had an ocean

Rage at the good people

Gobbling down the marketed world

Wearing same sung clothes buying same sung lies

Asking you to look right be right

Does that come with a large marching band

Perhaps a circus I ask

Fair exchange for my soul

Cradling my heart as I boogey walk

Rage at the good people

Masterminds of retched conformity

Breeding fear prejudice

Socially constructing self-destruction

My soul winks

Offers them salvation

White Boys and Pills

Persimmon orange, muted red, mottled plum, lemon lime;

Spilling from posh proper dispensers in disguise, numbered.

Two stepping across the clean galley counter;

Jelly beans at carnival.

Pale salon manicured fingers,

Shuffle the perfect colored discs.

Chess moves,

Jolly discoveries,

Pairings and associations;

Washed down with amber despair.

Delusional refined habit;

Wearing a pharmaceutical necktie.

Swift – clean – neat.

Lean white fingers pinch.

Pop!

Orgasmic.

Laughter, nods;

Subtle elite passage,

Cloistered in an awkward serenity.

Onward gods –

Power brokers;

Young, fragile,

Playing grown up.

Premature.

Hiding on edges of

Pure unadorned pleasure.

White boys and pills;

Where the lies are Truth.

Shadow Musings

1.

If I poured all my sorrows and broken dreams into a vessel,

It would fill oceans.

Vast, encompassing,

Still raging; alive inside me.

Waiting for a sign

That all was not without reward.

2.

Oh! sacred Patience,

Unknown the price you exact.

Late, we realize the cost we pay

Is the price of having it now.

3.

Sorrow fills a broken coke bottle.

With its shapely seductive form;

To tell the tale of heartache,

As if it were a love song.

4.

Beautiful tale with promise

Where loss is the villain.

Let the soul dance a holy jig,

Bellow a false laugh.

Watching the wretched dragging

Of its corpse

Across the desolate desert of hell.

Bio

Patricia Sanders sailed the 1100-mile Mexican Baja Coast with seafaring friends; through chilling, star-filled nights, crew/captain strains, cheap tequila, Cuban cigars, a split boom in near death storm – she emerged spirit free to begin anew. She is studying English at Santa Barbara Community College and working on her first chapbook of her sailing misadventures.