Smoker 58

The moon is an ember
  wrapped in rolled blankets of dust
          between the stars.


          Lightyears.
              Colonies.
                               Flags.






                   Coats of arms
                   and armor
                    against the planets weather.


















                   We will survive.

                       A new colony.



Ankle high grass.  Camera lens whirring.
Battery Power!
Listening to the sound of double doors
behind me
watching the moon set
wishing there was a wolf like me
somewhere on Europa.
The moon,
wrapped in coal clouds and simmering,
surging,
emulating a sun.  I would swallow you.
I can.

                     Teeth gnash.

               Lashes blink.


 

















Wewillbehomeinfortywinks.

Smoker 57

Can I appropriate your words?
Fire, Walk With Me/
The no gooders do gooders
she makes me cry no moar
loud more kings more games
do not begin to describe
how razor I can be
tough I can be rough I can rhyme
like a shut the fuggup.

There was a time I used to count the eyelashes on your upper eyelid.  There was a time when I used to count the sound of the licks on your back side.  Got dahmn, we both know the sound of the wings of just how time flies.

Some things don't change.  Thirty years old and you still get to enjoy how pops still fights like.  Holy biz, I'm glad like
if I was there I would
make a new song like
dot dot dot
fuck double taps
I will triple up
his forehead
little screw holes
and a bit
of more lead
because he still doesn't understand
if he hurts one of us
he hurts all of us

and what's more is

theonlythingholdingmebackisthefactistherackofpotentialunrealizedonhiswatchandI'dlovetokillbutmylifemeansmorethanthatshitthathesonandIwasgonetheminuteshedecidedwithhimandIwasgonetheminuteItoldwhatshewasonandsheleftmefordeadandImdoneputtingbabytosleepTheygavemesevenyearsIgavethemmyfutureandtheyateituplikeIwasleasedandsoweareenemiestiloneofusdiesfuckyouI can not

I will not

I refuse

the gate of a lie.

Fire up the lighter.  Roll toward the surface to air missile.  Break toward it and afterburn.

Tracers 4

Come home.
Sit where Bralliesh Cafe's sun umbrellas were
on 49th and Canning St.

Stoplight squeak
in the breeze.
Pack up tin shot glass and pocket the kit
after screwing the cap on.

Awoo!

I heard stories about Torrenby,
the carnival grounds and grand stage
before the war.

Things were nice then.