Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Blowfire

A rabble of lepers gather, mouths garbling under ratty raiment, to propagate their hateful illness to the rest of us.
City elders had not the sagacity to foresee this company's coming.
The army ranks swelled and the sick were felled but naught will be well anon.
Reeking bodies, raked aside, poison the air where infirmity rides ill winds to deposit (hidden) inside victors' lungs.
Those who fought to stay the plague bring it through our gates.
Our walls are no barriers, our soldiers no safe keepers, our leaders no problem solvers.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Fatherless Day

Two new fathers
I'm far from one
still young
with work to be done.

Babies flow like honey
supping milk-form mummy
clothed in daddy's money
crawling on fat tummies.

The widows winnowed from husbands
lead men on
they don't want replacements
they don't want to be alone.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Hobby

Loaded, locked, safety off a rifle is a grown man's blue safety blanky.
It's hot as a handmade holster or silencer, flat black or matte gray: shiny machined lightweight weaponry.
They're works of art; simple ridges and minimal lines style fine profiles.
The opposite #, armor, gets medieval with dragonscale, good enough for generals but none for all the jarheads.
Tracer round casings tinkle, tumbling through the air, sunlight sparkling sharply.
Blaming the tool thoughtful fingers pulled is a (cop [out) as San Fran's fannie].
No fellow should be zen with them citizen-harming firearms.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Foreswore

Spiderweb veins in the wrinkled old mountain dragged assembled pellets of rain to the lumpy hills and blend with soft white expanses.
The smallest quirky clockwork gear grinds slightly with every spin, in sleep locking teeth, and the many-toothed tiny gears' motion allows the larger gears to function. Every part must be played in circuitous sequence for the pendulum to swing.
An over-filled glass carried by a drunk, the ocean sloshes towards one continent's coast then another's, back and forth, left and right.
The accrued drops' actions cause some variation in the oceans behavior. Choose a minimum position from the froth to stand at and standing there for the same minute in each day's cycle observe the water sometimes reaches and sometimes does not.
Our emotions bleed through our contacts, coloring our moods like celery sucking up blue die in a food-coloring-tinted water glass.
Lightning-strike cracks in the glass from differences in pressure let seepage spread.
Ideas roam as cattle through our minds, foraging for their feed, and what has died in us before now provides their supper.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Hobo during Prohibition

Dis here distillery will sooth ye, drain away the pain plain upon your face, have a taste. A drop of white lightnin has a mighty power to right wrongs. When my boy was runnin a truckload the police unloaded without so much as inspectin his trunk. What they didn't confiscate I drank. Hate to let good booze go. They demanded I show them all my stills, insisted I desist and cease. After they drove off I drank til I felt deceased. Alky-hall-ism's a disease we's always had in my family.
Atleast my boy went in modern days, in cleaner ways. Back in the day, a man may feel cold steel steal his breath with the seal of a sword's edge. Or at the start of things, the cops would lift large stones honed to sharpened spear tips and slip them in past your skin, bust your guts wide open buddy. Ya see, an electric chair don't sound so bad now, do it?
Alright, maybe your life's all gravy and ya don't need this tumbler like this bumbler that I am. Heh, maybe you're a tea towler and can't slam them back like I's kin. But this drink's free, all on me, cause it's shore lonesome without someone sharing this medicinal poison. They call it a sin son, "lips which touch liquor will never touch mine". Well, how in the hell would you know?