all poems by Jamison A. Johnson
Photoglossed and airbrushed
a woman stares at me
empty,
lifeless,
What do you want from me?
No reply was given...
She continues
her diabolical scheme
of planting roots of
plastic and fiber into
the essence of mankind,
To what end
will she prostitute
her favors to
corporate beastiality?
Will her voice be
scissored down and
words pasted
in their place
for Media to
dictate empty agenda to
mindless drones of
flesh and bones
humming the wind with
hollow trunks which echoed
what once was a
forest rich
in intracacy,
detail,
warmth?
God won't hear
her paper torn
and plastic wrinkled
cries rotting forgotten
by an expired world
due for recylcling.
Your air wisps
gently into my awareness
Your voice
Cultivating a harvest
sprouting life that
cries out my prayer,
A bathing word
surfaces to mold a name,
crystalizing wisdom layers,
teething an imprint of a man:
Mine eyes staring
into this form
without a face.
