Sunday, July 11, 2010

Searching for the anchor

by Daniel Ames

green eyes and brown hair remind me of Alabama
when a long sheet of rain took the pain from her forehead
and assuaged the cankles by the cactus of doom

God is on the run and the apostles have nowhere to go
maybe Tuscaloosa but the coyotes drink hard there
and the prostitutes rape the johns using poker chips

conflagrations sound like nuclear submarines on the beach
and the conch shells spread the gossip of Christ
the Lord helps those who are hapless at the free throw line

2 comments:

  1. AnonymousJuly 11, 2010

    This is a very strange poem, even for Asphodel Madness, but the more I read it the better it gets. And I don't drink any more. And as a hoarder of words, I thank the author for introducing me to "cankles."

    Donal Mahoney

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