Split

The rich and the poor.
The married, the whore.
Categories baptized by
a ritual enchantment.
Like black and white
with no gray in between.
As if the one we might have been
had slipped between the cracks
that surely broke our mother's backs.
Society is such an empty word.
Intellect no better than a jar of mealy worms.
Split it up, as if the whole had no worth of its own.
The mind grows tired of the spires of infinities
that wove their way into an endless hell.
Computer waves are rising in our eyes.
Smart and chick, the eyes too bleak
believe the words poured out,
so obviously memorized - alas, the spell is fading
in a past that just can't live itself again.
The rich and the poor.
The married, the whore.
Categories baptized by
a ritual enchantment,
untitled in the currency
they spend...

? Michaelette ?

11/20/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .