Wednesday, September 28, 2011

More ticking in my head

a cross of dirt
the hot summer sun
fingers, frets and gut

cold fish, midnight sky

pulls the stars across his gills
the moon in his eye
heed nothing, no one
venison, ravening dogs
no more ants patrol

good massage gone bad
look up, surprise! leaking shards
moe green’s red glasses

deserted off-ramp in the dark

a cooling engine
tick tick tick
no occupants
the radio

sanguineous ops
median cubital jab
vacutainers slaked

black ribbon through green woods

leaping deer, squeezing calipers
asphalt peels my face

in the ditch
pupils fixed and dilated
staring up at nothing

larvae in my head
my stagnant noggin puddle
mental mosquitoes

asphalt under waxing moon

brake lights flash
an arm extends
my doom

blanket on the floor
decline, pain, merciful death
old good-dog is gone

© Pseudocognitive

No comments:

Post a Comment