[Newspoetry] All Saint's Day

[DL Emerick]

On the days when you live
with one foot in the grave,
the other in a pile of shit,
you think about how to save
the other foot, worthy shoe,
but which is it; what do I do?

The grave are full of crap,
manure pools, sledge ponds,
their banks runneth over,
spill out and overflow,
into the pure waters
weeping from melted snow,
seeping from the ground,
in springs of desire.

Newspoems stomp on graves,
urinates on the tried
defecates on the true,
the black and the white,
white, red or blue states,
finds purple people mud
for their make-up kits,
from the waste waters,
and the land they cover.

Red is the blood that runs,
hot, full of hot air, too,
runs from the heart to help;
blue is the blood coming back,
hauling wastes through livers
filters exhausted, depleted,
used up, thoroughly through.

Grave are the faces,
graver still what they mask,
their laughter at ruling,
animating idols of the day;
plant their feet in my face,
walk on my grave 'n glee.