Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater

Field Medical Service School

Shivering in the rain, up in the hills
Of Sunny Southern California
Kerosene cookers and their gust-blown smoke
Squid-wet Corpsmen in flying wet slickers

Mess kits held out to sullen, cursing cooks
Slam-slopping glops of sausages and eggs
Cold coffee in aluminum canteen cups
No cover, no shelter for floating food

Or for sergeants bellowing in the dark –
And we laughed through it all, for we were young

Mowing down competition like I a Gatling gun, got des fools on deh run.
Do this **** for fun, and I'm big and I love puns.
Name sadly already taken, oh well My names good and Nonetheless I be grappling these hooks hoping I don't reel in the kraken.  
I be cracking yawl up all night,  so what if we slack off a bit it's ok for we need to relax some nights.
Long days with strong or weak power plays, and days were emotions run a muck and life doesn't conform to our ways.
Rattling the war drums, rebelling because we tired of eating measly crumbs.
Get out the Gatling gun for its open season, time to teach these ***** a lesson.
Realize recognition and watch out for false perception in your cognition.
For eyes can lie so be wary and skeptical and never take bribes.
Real recognize real, if I ever fake myself again I’ll probably take a cyanide pill.
If I ever conform I would probably chug some chloroform.
If I ever cheat on my girl for some other *****, instead of dealing with the aftermath I’d probably drink some bleach. Go on a milk run and try to avoid the Gatling gun.
What the ****, why the ****, who the ****, where the ****, how the ****.
Get out the equalizer and go klick klick bang, the ting go gaa gaa blang.
Hit them wit de gat, swing it like it were a bat.
Floor ya to the mat, be like de earth cause you’ll go flat.
What ya tink aboot dat, mess wit de hammer yawl go splat.
Uh for real, de gun I gotta conceal, so don’t get all hasty man ******* chill. Macaroni, alimony, melancholy kinda funny once ya know de story.
Rain drop stained mop, living in de hood like what up my glip glops.
Going spaced out like I’m in a space ship, took some lcd recently that’s what I call a space trip.
It’s just basic rocket science and don’t mind me if I’m not compliant your highness.
I’m the finest with bars riddled with finesse, it’s like a Gatling gun putting bullets to thee chest.
Hold up shut the **** up, pause while a chug some lean from a big red cup.
Not for the weak minded, got gats for poor sneaky blinded folk cause ya got to keep it 100.
What the fickle popsicle gotta giggle for I’m not just a rickle in time for not just anyone can turn themselves into a pickle. Riggety recked, got out the Gatling gun so best hit the deck.
When I plan to paint this town.
Because I don’t **** with clowns.

she leans into the mic, her voice is raspy and familiar. i know why she doesn't remember my name and my clothes and my story. i know why she chooses to forget.
i can't seem to make out the words she's saying. i want to sit in a corner and hide, but i need to do this right now. i watch her lips as sound flows out like pudding, drops and glops of the stuff making a mess everywhere. i open my mouth to speak too. i sound just like her: incoherent and jumbly.
i watch in horror and disbelief as i morph into her. my nails and lungs turn black, the pins fall out of my hair. i catch a glimpse of my reflection. i look the same as i always have. nothing has changed.

Glops and swirls
of red white
and blue

it does not fly
or billow in the breeze
it hangs

a piece of art

something to start
a conversation
you know

just small talk

with no guarantees
but no fine print
and definitely

no dotted line
to sign on

either

I've Wished So Much Of the "4th"

Nothing eternal as the sentry of thoughts
surfaced with course memos
under trees were branches
while the terse sky...
imposes roots from hell

older yearly wanton grueling haughty suppressed
breaking from sundown

Into 3 fingered humanoid flickers of empathy
or simply understanding
as the drain on alacrity
sends drudges of depression to new flights

Light the strolls encase the toes
running brave yet stamper out cursive strokes of the body
staked for Xerox belay on heavens, on belay

Only without your senses
forces fraught jasmine glops of Freon jolts
collected by gutter fed demi costs, the frequency more or less

Another evening & years stretched by
glassy faith cut with fire cool waters
& doubtless familiars
yet, never understanding as the dreams never arrive

They juxtapose, should I be sunk or
I the weeds of life assail, oiled by grease of existence
& fall into another blank reality of holding

Who calls a namesake and savior
or can it be fraught by conscious marks
alight on scratches metaphysical
continuance and the dance
to avail for there's an awe of an almost "omnificent empress"

And then there's just every other fourth of July

Nothing eternal as the sentry of thoughts
surfaced with course memos
under trees were branches
while the terse sky
imposes roots from hell
older yearly wanton grueling haughty suppressed
breaking from sundown
Into 3 fingered humanoid flickers of empathy
or simply understanding
as the drain on alacridity
sends drudge of depression new flights
Light the strolls encase the toes
running brave yet stamper out cursive strokes of the body
staked for xerox belay on heavens on belay
Only without your senses
forces fraught jasmine glops of Freon jolts
collected by gutter fed demi cost frequency more or less
Another evening years stretched by
glassy faith cut with fire cool waters
doubtless familiars
yet never understanding as the dreams never arrive
They juxtapose should I be sunk or
I weeds assail oiled by grease of existence
fall into another blank reality of holding
who calls a namesake and savior
Or can be fraught conscious marks
alight on scratches metaphysical
continue the dance
to avail for there's an awe omnificent Empress

Nothing eternal as the sentry of thoughts
surfaced with course memos
under trees were branches
while the terse sky
imposes roots from hell
older yearly wanton grueling haughty suppressed
breaking from sundown
Into 3 fingered humanoid flickers of empathy
or simply understanding
as the drain on alacridity
sends drudge of depression new flights
Light the strolls encase the toes
running brave yet stamper out cursive strokes of the body
staked for xerox belay on heavens on belay
Only without your senses
forces fraught jasmine glops of Freon jolts
collected by gutter fed demi cost frequency more or less
Another evening years stretched by
glassy faith cut with fire cool waters
doubtless familiars
yet never understanding as the dreams never arrive
They juxtapose should I be sunk or
I weeds assail oiled by grease of existence
fall into another blank reality of holding
who calls a namesake and savior
Or can be fraught conscious marks
alight on scratches metaphysical
continue the dance
to avail for there's an awe omnificent empress

Outside my window is a globe
dropping frozen tears
that hover between the small
spaces afraid of touch.

Distanced from each
other by the sweeping of
grass on the frozen seeds
of a landscape falling from
trees.

The sky is abandoned to
fate.  We walk on tiptoe.
Today is not enjoyed.
There is no kiss.

My bird sings from her
cage, oblivious to familial
possibilities that render
me reaching for the
soap.

Snow turns to
glops on wet pavement.
We stay indoors.  Our
own globe infected with
a search for sanity.

We can only touch
thru glass.


Caroline Shank