E.E. Cummings

Please note that the structure of the poem has drastically been changed due to some wacky thing with this Posting program on this blog.

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

Upset

I would like to point out that I think what this dumb blogger does to the form of my poems is disgusting.

I think every one of these poems I've published on here have been altered in some way (if not grossly).

Just take that into consideration as you read.

Francis Bacon's painting Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X.

This was the subject of my latest poem.

Brick (white)
Matthew London

I know you sat on a chair
and that you had a face
quite like all the rest of us.
An arm, a leg
they keep on
moving.

Most men on a Sunday morning
are less than you.
So, what are these God-lines I draw?
Stroke with this brush,
thistles
could have been made from horses
horse hair,
that is how
it once was.

Know this,
I can’t make you like God did.
I will allow you the purple
and a grey-matter throne
to rest on
for me
though.

Despite a triumph with
gold stamped coins
and
an ornate dome for your
Basilica,
you’ll lose your eyes one day
flesh as well.
Still
I won’t be able to see you
as plush velvet on the inside of you r coffin,
but who you speak for
will
without a doubt
notice a change, back to what you are.