Year 6719

The year was 6719
Flower children loved
The scent in the air

Was so phenomenal
Truly the citadel of colorful spirals
And popping neon
Wrapping itself in velvety ribbons
Around the rib cage
Of a great fallen consumerist man

We didn’t know much about Vetnam
That equally colorful battlefield
It was a backdrop to Sashbry-Gaight
Our brilliant neighborhood in the sky

The jungle looked very tempting
But we didn’t want to leave civilization just yet
It needed to fall before we can flee

This was very draining
Don’t worry though
Because the sun soaks us up
And the music never stops ringing in our ears
In holy Sashbry-Gaight, the city of melody

Bhff-ter (Horror)

He was in the freezer, so what? He wouldn’t freeze. Everything was obeying the plan. Bhff-ter wouldn’t lie. It had said that Tommy could not be frozen to death. And like clockwork, Tommy was in the freezer shivering but far from shuddering out his last breath.

Bhff-ter emerged from the fog, gripping Tommy’s throat, its hands scalding his throat. Tommy struggled by thrashing his limbs. Bhff-ter didn’t so much as blink. Tommy noticed just then that the thing didn’t have eyelids. It was such a small detail he probably wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for death closing in like white hot headlights.

He took a small icicle forming on the ceiling, and as the beast brought him back to Earth he stabbed it into its left eye. The screams shredded his eardrums, and everything turned black as a woman in a red suit approached. She was nondescript except for the two brilliant antlers on her head.

“You should’ve died from natural causes,” the lady said. She didn’t care to illuminate the consequences.

Tommy was almost glad she didn’t.

President Pence Steps Off a Tainted Carousel

His lips were stretched into a perfect line
Perfect and pious
Straight and flawless

Pence preens his suit
For the inauguration ceremony
Maybe a trim is in order
Everything has to be “just so”

Line up the conspiracy theories
They’re important too
Save the most poetic lines
For a human that’s smooth all over

But behind it all
Behind the glitter and confetti
Stands the shadow of an elephant piercing a lion

“Those nutty puppets peddling their theories”
Though similar structures can’t be ignored
When you place them side by side

Blogging and Poetry

A word or two
A regular drip in the mornings
Something to occupy and sustain the mind
A little blogging never hurt anyone
The old adage comes home to roost

Blogging, where individuality
Expands to infinity
There isn’t enough room for no one
Just one more blog
The world needs another teardrop
Of the micro-fish

It swims upstream
Telling stories
Entertaining schools
From different planes of existence

“Another word” is the thin dividing line
Between obscurity and phosphorescent identity
Step into your blog
Step into another dimension

As a micro-fish
Become the sea
Absorb the sea



Fatigue sets in
Like a battle formation
Limp limbs make all the difference in the world
The night seems to have more meaning with them around

As the captain surveyed the landscape
He couldn’t separate the trees from tired appendages
There was something medical about the scene
That somehow fatigue was just a prelude to
injury, disease, various medical related things

He didn’t have the heart to wake them
Didn’t have the heart to be a captain anymore
But he did have the heart to walk into the sea
Keeping his eyes open until the sting engulfed everything
The dolphins were playful but altruistic
Making sure the captain stayed afloat until his eyes dissolved

A rhythmic robbery

Jewelry, wallets, any valuable went into that rusted tin
Rain hit a metal roof
A tasteful broach followed the sound of pelting from above
Coughing, chewing, the scraping of  overgrown nails
Orange bubble gum was being popped by an ignoramus

The vacuum salesman was succumbing to the sounds
Planning his next move
Letting the rhythm wash over his oily hair and body

This redneck wanted golden watches and pearl heirlooms
But the salesman would give him a powerful lesson in shady economics
Selling a vacuum meant your family could eat for half a day
And when survival was on the table, an off-kilter man and his rusted tin didn’t stand a chance

The Wonderful World of Cherry Trees

Brick by brick
It unraveled
A fine institution
Someone’s alma mater
Another’s fine wooden table

But both sides became learned
Abstruse languages abounded
Books were imported
From the most important places

Everything came down to oval-shaped oak, though
Influential people gathered there
The local watering hole where splinters were impossible
One decision was piled on top of another

Just another fine day imposing rules
The sun filtered through cherry trees
Youth dwindled in their loins
But those tanks weren’t empty yet
Youth was in all the right places
Hiding decrepitude

They could enjoy sandwiches
Constructed from the most luxurious meats
And as long as their mouths didn’t falter
The sun could still filter through cherry trees


A Pro-Life Fireman

Those flames
Were always on the cusp
Being reduced to
Lonely flickering spires

He didn’t extinguish them
Instead he waited
Maybe a gust of wind would be
The final fatal stroke

Or it could be the rain
That delivers the black curtain

A fireman’s hat could snuff out a life
So tiny and full of promise
Each and every one might be the next Great Fire

But he couldn’t let that happen
Unfortunately, lives just had to be snuffed
The hat came down
Like a massive UFO
Eclipsing the sun
And bringing much-needed change


An Afterglow’s Twilight

Pause the screen
It will always be there
Like aluminum foil
Or bees making bread

Even when it sleeps for the night
There is still a pleasant afterglow
Words from resting heads permeate the silence
Swatting at dust motes
Gnawing on them for sustenance
Well that and for the sheer pleasure

The dust motes do little
To assert themselves
Not defending their territory in the slightest
Just waiting for syllables to get tired
Of it all
And go elsewhere

But finding new feeding grounds isn’t easy
Let’s gnaw on the dust motes
Basking in the afterglow that sustains every living thing

Even as the sun is going down
We’re succumbing to the pleasure
The feeding, the carnage
Just everything

The life sustaining light has to die sometime
But we’ve had a good run
And several minutes remain
An eon in afterglow terms