Murder The Universe

Driving gloves no longer stick to the steering wheel
the way they did in summers past and
snot slicks it up and the radio buttons glisten
with thumb prints and the dash streaks
underneath street lamps passed by where
boogers and boogie men got smeared.

Practice come live; before panic breaks down
walls of reality and we all mash steel drum lips
to sound more human and who is who
when the rain falls on all of us and
the sound trickles in to our ears as
a cacophony of concussions with each one
reaching one before a drum stick has landed.

Fuck you, this is my planet, wait.

It is not, this is your fucking planet.

Janus? Gemini?  Gnaw.  Circling a dog star.
All born the same with passions the same
wills the same converted into expressions
of peace and rest that get misinterpreted
into statements of war and rust and gusto.
Head, shoulders, knees, and toes to sanity

let's go ahead and clip the profanity.
Fuck you.  What did I just say?
Remember the planet on which we could all play?
I don't.  I'm not a prophet and I'm always ready
to get up off it.  Build the ships
and I'll start a new colony.

This one is dying and I'm glad to be a rat.
I wasn't invested.  Galaxies is where I'm at.
Hibernate and I'll time travel with you,
when you wake I'll be happy to wake too.
Star scapes mean a lot more now.
When you're ready, I'll hold your hand
and move town.

Shomurai

Leather laced.
Metal plate.

Sun down to sun up.

Glance and live.
Wink and die.

Battlecries form and
sink between lenses,

leash and dice held firm
while the links have to go.

No time to mourn
while the blessings let,

eventually they'll learn
six deep under stone.

Leather laced metal plate
and honed,
blade synchronized to
flesh and bone.