Sunday, August 21, 2011

Loaded up with dead

Some stuff recently unstuck from my congested mind. I accept no blame for the poor quality of this micropoetry, because I don’t like blame.

thought-stoppers, slow-talkers, nothin’ left to find
words fail, tires wail, clickin’ in my head
loaded-up with dead
12 gauge
of my mind

born under bad sign
a penumbra in your eye
got yourself binocs

locked inside a trunk
washboard road, deserted field
one shot, make it count

ninkyō dantai
stride wide on the sidewalk, yo
recognize my ink

khamsin-scoured skin
parchment over dry muscle
sightless eye-jerky

big fish, mob secrets
silty sliding meander
my murky river

perspex bubble bird
torn and bled-out, en route fast
uijeongbu, posthaste

fell’s point showdown
now, ask ‘em tell ‘em make ‘em
you got your throw-down?

slick ghost of a fish
gutted yet fully motile
catfish in the sink

inverted gull wings
deadly patrols in the slot
azure sky, whistling death

flatulent snoozer
pintos gone, empty burlap
give that dog a bone

cerulean pill
help, doc, it’s been four hours
quick, vasoconstrict!

—Haiku for Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer—
Murderin' bastard
lay face-down in Greasy Grass
vultures can have you.

Post and photos © Pseudocognitive

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