Monday, February 25, 2008

Poem from January 29th, 2008.

"The Pistol"

Dear wood-horse riders,
May you sit astride your kindling steed forever, trotting forward
Past circular signals launching towards the midnight satellite,
Still tenderly humming their cheerless spacetime eulogies
You lead a much simpler life now - a life of snakes and ladders,
Of black box desperation and crippled sisters
You can be found feeding sweet treats to canines,
Watching coyotes bite off bits of butterscotch bisquettes,
And bestowing unclaimed kisses upon your wrinkled hands

Dear lovelorn basket-bearer,
This is your modified tarot card, sent dripping diagonal
It slips from the table, reeking of bayou musk and Pagan magic,
Warning that your slick webbing won't prevent future aerial bombardment
Or the silent, microscopic navigation of a warm germ through your gut
And as you yelp into the abyss, like a prick-eared bat,
Never expect the voices of the zodiac to come whirring back,
Promising lust, love, and the eventual return of lost luggage
I do not doubt that you are your own luminary

Dear kindred animal,
You territorial cephalopod, all wet and tentacular,
As oblivious to sentimental, silver tokens as you are,
You possess the same rainbow glow of a junkyard gas stain at high noon
You delight me, you rouse me from my bed, you do not quell my hunger
I shake my rattle bone and celebrate such a timeless unearthing
And when you sputter, gag, and go out with explosive plumes of colored smoke
Your admirers will bask in the hot breath of a dying machine,
Collapsing into the reflection they've cast upon it's metallic muscle

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