Celebrations if they can so be called

By splendor of the candid lie

and sardonic comments of commentary.

The seed of the disgruntled,

the post-mo angst of ancient.

Urban born

with a rural spawn.

Given by uncommon narcotics

and cultivation.

Dreamed of in their own con

and color

and match

and splendid.

Seeded by the posted smoke.

Colored by the hands not their own.

Celebrated once,

and celebrated no more.

 

6/9/11

Published by James J Jackson Jr

I'm a writer and political organizer who loves socialism, painting, and film.

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