Shell shakes the cold Winter into

Fall. Ing into the night- the long night. 

Striking thunder ignites

prolific strokes on

stone tablets.

Fire and cherries edge

the rock and crack

before Thoth’s might

book.

Swinging ink forges

new history and one

dream.

turns weak men into air

and the strong into puddles.

Jingled wraith stalks the poor

and kills the wise.

Straps of hair carpet

the floor and

cement the heel

buried two feet below

the Earth. She’ll be back

for the rest.

 

We worship thieves

that control the youth

that bends the land

to their will.

Oh, I can feel the temperature rising,

the henchmen burning

the truth,

I must be a hundred and nine.

The castle burns

around your original subjects

and the ashes fly

through the ghetto.

 

Shy eyes

and a smile

that could deactivate a bomb. 

Tracing a version

of herself

that she sees. 

Can’t continue

to watch and set

the bomb before

the day ends. 

They all can’t be winners. 

Wonder falls flat

chest above the nylon

sheets. 

They all can’t be winners. 

Tribute to the ones

that stayed

above waste level. 

Ride.

Ride fast and through

the seventh ring.

Ice Brutus’s stare

chases the bike as

he’s grounded up. 

Ride. 

Ride fast and through

the sixth ring. 

The parade starts and ends

on Mulan Boulevard.

Tribes painted blue and red

burn the flag before each meal.

The shadow

of the Candlestick

bares stripes 

across the orbital. 

Flame dancing 

to a hollow tune

and encouraged

by a dwarf draft

inching closer. 

Fickle fingers shine

lively dripping with

revolving cause in

the abandoned Theatre.

The dangling sheet

shifts

two steps north

to find footing

underneath Plum’s

wrath.