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Andrew Rueter Sep 2020
God smites me
Because I'm smitten
He hates me rightly
For what I've written
I'm his beta kitten
And I walked away
Like Jason Witten
On retirement day
Avoiding a fiery fray
Because I'm entirely afraid
So I chose not to stay

I fell in love
Then felt God's shove
Pushing from above
With a punishing glove

I made a mistake
Then made it twice
That's all it takes
To feel God's ice
Then I made it thrice

Like 7 Brides For 7 Brothers
I've tried enough to know I'm a number
My deadened life's become encumbered
So my reddened eyes start to slumber

I don't listen
So I feel His scorn
Not in what glistens
But people I adore
Becoming those I mourn
Once they shoot me off
Into the lightning storm
Like Alex Killorn

I must pay attention
To escape the detention
Of my own invention
Ignoring what's mentioned
By God in His book
I feel the pawn and the rook
Can outmaneuver the King
All my pieces he took
And told me to sing
Andrew Rueter Sep 2020
The raccoons on this Kentucky farm formed a quagmire. They're wild thieves embedded in the ecosystem. Irreplaceable valuables are erased in the cover of night. The farmer offers to negotiate with the masked vermin. A raccoon response results in scramble trash, they say they've got a birthright from the past. Wits end is where dog ownership begins after the adoption of a rabid dog that only sees death. Regret rocks raccoons wrestling with Cerberus but there's no turning back, Cujo is chained in their yard.  Hellhound terror leaves spellbound hares abandoning their warrens until only reddened raccoons remain with their canine warden.

Lamenting the loss of liberty, a revolutionary raccoon resolves to romp around. The dog of damnation's laser locked bloodlust focuses on the rodent-like rebel. Charging like a rocket out of its launcher, the driven dog is lured from its isolated den. This game of cat and mouse has magnanimous stakes reaching across the farmer's lake.

The rebellious raccoon runs rapidly from the rabid ravenous Rover. The runner dips and dives through cover to avoid the teeth of the other. A snapping jaw matches the movements of the juking and cutting critter. Inside of a hollow tree becomes the raccoon's destination, he enters and ascends, the snarling snapper chasing in after him.

Death's embrace seems certain for the raccoon as the hound's teeth shave the edge of its fur, but at that point the fatter can go no further. The hound's blinding bloodlust vanishes upon realizing it's stuck. Its unwavering rage turns into panicked fear once it realizes its end is near. The raccoon revels in the dog's misery, enjoying watching it slowly starving.

The raccoons revelry is rebuked once the dog just starts staring at it. They both stare at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to die. Neither of them willing to move an inch for fear of accidentally helping the other. Both willing to die to ensure their opponent's death. The hollow facade that saved the raccoon now becomes its tomb. Defeat and death act as a sedating punishment for the dog's aggression. Fierce foes drink the poison of resentment as they both accept their demise while staring into each other's eyes.
Andrew Rueter Sep 2020
Driving down the freeway in Kentucky, there are only a couple exits people expect you to take. Lexington or Louisville,
pick one. Otherwise, what specific business
do you have going on in Sadieville?

I'm one of the unknown exitters
living 20 minutes off the Mt. Zion Road exit.
No one gets off this exit but me
onto a lonely drive through the trees.

I live off an exit where the vultures eat the dead, then perch on the trees that are dead, deceased in defeat under the feet that eat.
The graves of unknown soldiers lie buried beneath
convenience stores. The storefront sign says open
but the discordance inside is close.

Wandering in the wilderness
while the wind whistled my sins
you joined me in Union
after you missed the right exit.

Voices from the nether sent you letters saying things are better up north. My box on the side of the road holds notes that were
written with the intention of being read, but they're just
thrown out with the junkmale instead.

You burned too hot and I burned too much
in a snare I was caught once you abstained from touch
You were all I had, this isn't New York City
how many people am I supposed to have with me?

150 years ago, brother fought brother over the lives of their brothers here. Not much has changed since then.
A grave robber's eyes are seen in the faces of
wanderers. Welcomes only last until usefulness has passed.

You kept driving through
I wish I could exit too
but will Ohio be any better?
Once you find out send me a letter.
Andrew Rueter Aug 2020
Chasing darkness
surmising depth lies in the depths
trenches are dug in craters
the holes we dig make us special
so we keep on digging.

Subterranean cranium
head in the sand—soul buried in soil
paying the undertaker in advance
the shovel feels lighter once it's smoothing the dirt
guarding the top of the grave.

Coffin solitude
dormant tears loosen the Earth
         the clay dam breaks
jailbreak mudslide
birthed from a muddy womb
crying, gasping for air.

We cleanse ourselves in the healing waters of time
donning our Sunday best for church
joining the choir boys standing at Jesus' feet
singing a chorus of denial
"I never asked for this".
Andrew Rueter Aug 2020
Wading in an eddy
waiting for edification
outside a rampart levee
lamenting lack of levitation
seeing my sedentary station

has me swimming stationary
where the mud is kicked up
spreading a murky brown mist
anywhere I happen to touch anything.

The white water rapids look pure
—at least from where I'm floating
turbulence is welcome at this point
yearning to leave my mudslide broth.

Estranged from strangers
I call out for help
only to receive hell
until I'm tangled in kelp.

A barrier towers over my totality
pedestrians travel on the other side
traversing toward the other sidewalk
avoiding contact—or maybe loneliness

none of them approach the water's edge
they build walls as a protective hedge
shielding them from the precarious ledge
and those that float in the eddy beyond it.
Andrew Rueter Aug 2020
While I'm floating in heaven
My alarm hits eleven
From sins numbering seven
My transcendence is threatened

I lower my elevation
To experience sin
Giving empty stimulation
Where I don't really win

I fair in heights
50 below Fahrenheit
Like an imperiled kite
Flying a feral flight

Living in the clouds
I hear a thunder sound
So I look around
To see I'm lightning bound

A burn immense
From a herd of dense
Turbulence
Into descent

The gravelly ground
Wears gravity's crown
It starts grabbing me down
Until I'm gradually drowned

The weight is too much
And I sink into the dirt
I say enough is enough
Then perpetuate hurt

I couldn't fly
So I rule below
I'm not gonna lie
I wish I could go
Andrew Rueter Aug 2020
Our world passes another at close range
we can see the inhabitants of the other world
waving to us—planning on passing through
but our gravitational fields switch
and we fall into each other's worlds
seeing the beauty of what the other has experienced
before we hit the ground.
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