from the yellow park bench by R.G. Johnson

(ljóð einn)

from the yellow park bench
by R.G. Johnson

glory-lust glows a bitter renewal
like the brazen sun almighty

smoking dead rubies crest
cool black grimaces,
sapphire lion-jeweled eyes
demand laud like old-style gods
and new-style paupers

throne-thirsty creations abound
in the wreckage of salvation,
on the cusp of home and lost,
where the shadows have teeth

gaunt hands receive sweet gains of life
to buy lipstick and cigarettes
and tower-honored azure gowns
that flutter fleshy venomous victory
to the eyes that grow on alley walls
and float dumb and derelict in the streets

spaghetti strings chain Heaven’s gate
and g-strings package deity-damned pleasures
that melt faster than tongued chocolate
and strike quicker than cornered mambas

moon rhythm snow thighs
of seraph-brides and demonic whores
contemplating physics and anatomy
in a guitar zenith bloom of flavors
and flaccid stares of inebriate passion

stars cloaked in concrete
unable to shine
too thick to be luminous
to free to be fixed

see how the angels stumble
down
down
downtown


Author bio:

R.G. Johnson is a type of wooden boat on which strange minds sail to unnecessary places. He floats sideways, cuddles with puppies and leaks terribly; he is, therefore, of no practical use. However, he is fun on the holidays because of his extremely interesting belly. He has been published, or has been accepted for future publication under his current title, in Paradigm Journal, Black-Listed Magazine, Opium poetry and Poetry Monthly International. Under his former pseudonym (Grady McShane) he has been published in The Oddville Press, drowning in my own fears, Gloom Cupboard, Snap! Journal, Grendel Mom and Red Boot. He went to college, has a job and lives in Texas with the greatest woman ever born. He was given a new pig for Christmas and named him Hans Bacon Andersen. He is happy and so is he.