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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