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Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
WHY
Bleeding, I am bleeding
my lifeblood is draining away.
You’ve taken my will, my love, my all,
Why?

A lifetime spent with you,
endless memories waking me now
reminding me of what we once were .
Why?

Friend? Where can I find you?
You disappeared in one surreal moment,
leaving only your image.
Why?

Under your foot I am crushed,
broken and bruised; in crisis.
You pushed me away and finished it.
Why?

I have tripped over life
and fallen headlong into the abyss
without you.
Why,  always why?
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
patty m May 2014
I remembered it well

the rich mix of smoke, perfume, and garlic

one could almost taste the absinthe in the air.

Toulouse-Lautrec, was deemed acceptable

as we embraced his artistic vision

singing our Chason Realiste songs;

we are the people, the poor gaudy freaks
traipsing about with drink in hand
sliding stockings down
from thighs, spreading
our provocative
dreams while delving headlong into
decadence and garish night life,
trying to escape banality .

Ah Henri, the prostitutes, and there
were many, Marie Charlet
your first. Even with your genetics
and anguished tirades burgeoning,
she loved you well.

Tremblement de terre, your creation

we too contrive when mocked

to become carefree and

obsessively delusional.


Thin brushstrokes
touched dispassionately
and yet there is sympathy suffused,
a continuum of unarticulated
and variegated respite;
the allure of mouth watering treats
and trollops that take the woe-begotten
to stellar heights.

While we the hangers-on
raise glasses in salute
tonguing the inner sanctum of the Moulin Rouge
our astute imaginings savored while
craving even more of those
***** nights with ******* and bodies
exposed, ******* whetted blown upon.

Then too, our burrowed deep sensations might grind
out torch songs, even as the flames leap higher
to singe us all, we laugh and cry.

Curled flame we toast the unexplainable
creating an **** of molten light,
bodiesof heat brighter than stars.  

Thus we become the false dawn,

stripping darkness from the midnight sky,

an explosion of all we are and have to give

in our life long pursuit of Celebration.
Valsa George May 2017
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source

Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.

Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-

All floating in *****, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.

As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves

I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight

As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
At the beginning
Was an open sea
Knowing nothing
But its own
Owning every
Beach it met
Not knowing enough to feel alone

After many
Long years it finds
There is much
More for to see
Inlets and outlets
On every shore
A sense of greater freedom to be free

The sea joined
To many rivers
Seeing land
On either side
Freedom then became
Just a memory
The river's end was not in sight

But along the way
An Ocean Watershed
Joining rivers to the sea
It had to sleep
In many river beds
To see what it was meant to be

Down in the river
Flowing headlong
To the sea
Joining the
River's rage
That is where
I long to go
That is where I am meant to be

  
--Daniel Irwin Tucker
An Ocean Watershed is a large basin, such as the Mississippi Basin & the St. Lawrence Great Lakes Basin, where rivers and streams end up in the ocean.
Sam Fickling Oct 2018
All too often
the only escape
is sleep

a rehearsal

Headlong

the Cave
the Ocean
Magic
the Stars
even Death

I'll be all alone

when I die.
G Rog Rogers Oct 2017
Nothing could save you
from your addiction
No one can save you
from your self

When you fell
You fell
straight to ****
You were gone
when you started
And nothing could
stop you...

from your addiction

****-bent for trouble
Headlong into tragedy
Drug induced psychosis
held you tight in its grip

Tighter than the clench
of a tightly gloved fist
The clenched fist of...

Your addiction

You bartered away
everything you owned
While incinerating
Your mind

Your heart and your life
cannot much longer
hold on...

against your addiction

No one could save you
from your addiction
Nothing can save you
from yourself.

-R.

(10.12.17)
-LA

-4MAR
©ASGP
Tammy M Darby Nov 2017
The cutis anserina raise cold upon your arm
The brain dispatches a foretelling chilling alarm
It is panic that has you in its grasp
I daresay your destiny
Though somewhat delayed come at last

You focus your frightened gaze rapidly from left to right
Wishing the sun break the dawn and begone this haunted night
Your inner voice speaks to you
Turn round if you dare
The hair slowly rises on your neck
The cautious self tells you to beware

Ring covered fingers icy run up your spine
Struggling to remain conscious
Your heart is pounding
Counting breaths you mark the time

Drenched in sweat you stumble headlong into the dark
Unaware an actor on the stage merely playing a part
Flee as far as you wish and swiftly as you can
There is no eluding the touch of fears hand

It is panic that has you in its grasp
The arms of fate
Clutch you to her stone breast and hold you fast
They call your name
You must bow to the gods
And breathe your last

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Nov. 25, 2017.




I
Kaitlin Evers Oct 2018
Lost. Where am I? Cold earth beneath me; bleak, vast, dripping darkness surrounding me. Alone, and lying at the bottom of the Devil's Kettle. I search inside of myself. I am empty. No mettle to stir, nothing inside myself to waken me from this darkness. Drip, drip, goes the saddening darkness enshrouding me. Once I had zeal. It is hard to imagine now. I am a shell, or not at all myself. There is no help. None who know of the black hole in which I lie. And if they did, how could one reach down a hand to lift me up? God! God! God! The One who blessed me with strength, the One who took my strength. Cast me not headlong; lift me up with your victorious right hand. God! God! God! Day upon day I cry out. Day upon day the earth beneath me lifts up.  Pain, pain, it washes away, weighted chains are falling loose, He elevates my sunken earth. Until the hole I lie in is no longer a hole, but is level earth in the light of day. Birds twitter, flowers are in bloom, the sun is shining through the trees. My world completely changed; and better than last I was here. Life and new song are inside of me. God! God! God! Out of the miry bog you have rescued me and strengthened me anew. Praise! Praise! Praise! Blessed be your name!
Johnny Noiπ Aug 2018
Ivan had completely lost it;
Teenage Satan in town
to see his father
        for money;
Eli                 hated this kid;
                   a minor prophet
                 in his own scene;
                  Hel kept a photo
of Satan stuck to
          her mirror;      mirrors
going out of
          style & magic          making
a              comeback;
drinking   [Ivan could've
  sworn the kid was dead
  it was bad news that he
     showed his face at all;
                              Ivan would've sworn he
                              was dreaming:  pressing
in on the scared kid,
& growling in his face:
                                     "I watched u die in the
                                      gutter, u rotten *******!"
Ivan had indeed been there

                                     when the satanic          | kid got run over
                                     by the yellow cab driving
                                     headlong into         ****;
[Ivan's blackouts increased after that]
Dr Peter Lim Oct 2018
I was not brave enough
couldn't be a soldier.

I was not strong enough
couldn't be a fighter.

I was not smart enough
couldn't be a teacher.

I was not musical enough
couldn't be a singer.

I was not talented enough
couldn't be a writer.

I was not handsome enough
couldn't be an actor.

I was not gallant enough
couldn't be a suitor.

I was and still am -  like none other
if you my lady fair count be not a loser
and fall headlong for me as your lover
though I was once nothing, am now the luckiest winner.
Lauren M Sep 2018
My eyes, python-like, swallow the sky,
greedy for the wrongs in me to go right
at the sight of your gleeful greenery
spilling over creek beds and hills.
The wind, combing out my worries,
blowing away the blockage built
by the fumes and filth collected in city gutters.
I want to be
let wild, made free.
But one wrong turn in your winding maze and I am gone,
a place like this will chew you up and spit you out.
You should leave, something tells me.
No one ever leaves fully intact,
the longer you stay, the more you will fall apart.
“On the contrary” I scoff.
“I am becoming more myself, not less.”
But this is what everyone says
just before they leap in joyful pursuit
to tumble headlong down hidden gullies.
But I am more careful, I assure myself.
I hunt the way crocodiles do,
watching patterns with keen intention,
offering my hands and eyes.
But what should I do if, when the time comes,
You resist?
Disregard me, like an unworthy suitor?
And what if that is what I am?
I see, I take note of
the way the wind blows and the shadows fall,
the way the trees twist clockwise
or counter-clockwise.
The way animals flee when I approach and
the way they keep perfectly still
hoping they are invisible.
And there are times when I see all this, and more.
Like heat distortions above a fire,
something peripheral or liminal,
almost outside the spectrum of what can be perceived
or communicated or defined.
All these trails, the ones seen and unseen
and the ones somewhat seen
lead me to a terrible suspicion:
that the likes of me lacks to tools
to understand the likes of you.
that in harmony with one another
we would both cease to be what we are.
that you will never regard me with love and worse—
you will never regard me at all.
Then I, in frustration, stop going with you.
Start to go against you.
And keep going, finally on my own.
Still myself, but less.
L B Feb 4
Finding my way
to the flowers again

To where snow drops
pierce the icy crust
to bud their hearts out
and crocuses stand their ground
against winter's sure retreat  

Sparrows quarrel in the bushes
venturing out to test their cheeps
in rediscovery of a brilliant afternoon

The sun leans long against the house now
an unassuming warmth extending day
Joins the world of dripping
snow gives up its grip on eves
tumbling headlong
clumps from trees
spring notes
tossed headlong into the lonely void
nothing with you but your name
what will you do
fight the game and inevitably lose
or ride the winds to other worlds
body floating in space
gambling with emotion
the universe starts to swirl
you see every star as it passes by
you feel every atom as it enters your body
infinitely powerful and free
accidently got exposed to 1500 ug of lsd while alone with no phone, tv, or radio.
this is what came out
Dark Fjord Nov 2018
Trash the hotel room
abducted for top research weapons development
my coke bottle
glasses smoking fat cigar
fits for the scene
I am on a bust street of traffic
ask my attendees
can you hear that
they sat no
they grab me before i lunge headlong into the noise
the Globe Press passes before me
these hands have stayed another tragic accident
traffic
i wander about that word
is it magic
24 hours had passed and I was in a hole, the darkness had consumed me and I couldn’t dispel it, what was going on? I had all of the reasons in life to be happy but the flashes were still coming by the minute, as I drove home that night, I imagined crashing, diving headlong off of the Ben Franklin, nothing to stop me but the thick unforgivable steel, and the thoughts of those I would lose in the process.
I made it home safely. Against a plight of thoughts that were tempting me otherwise. Into bed I go. Feeling like that was the only place I’d be safe. No sharps around. Nothing to harm me. I convince myself to stay steady and distract my brain. It’s time to fill my body with the cure, a hand full of pills and the coldest iced tea. They’re prescribed so what harm could they do. I’ll drift off to sleep and start a new day, filled with sunshine and the voice of my love, the fix I needed to climb out of this tunnel.
But the pills, they’ve turned on me, I feel my body start to shake and the numbness approach my lips, I can’t reach my slumber. And if I continue laying here, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me with the thoughts running rampant in my brain that night. So I decide to move, into the closest haven I can find myself while staying relaxed, a hot bath, not the lukewarm after thought, the kind that stings your skin and makes you feel alive.
I enter with an ahhh of immediate comfort, feeling the heat overtake me, realizing this is exactly what I needed to escape. But I’ve gone too far. The chemicals have overtaken me finally and I feel as if I’m drowning in this 2ft pool, deciding to escape as the world starts to turn, I’ve lost my grip on reality and nothing seems tangible, not even my feet on the floor, I go down the first time, feeling my bones crunch on the imitation wood, and I’m gone, everything is black and I wake up sweating, unable to stand,  spinning out of control.
I find myself in an army crawl trying to get back to the sanctuary of my bed. Imagining how silly it was to be contemplating an end just hours before when now I am literally praying for a way to hear the sweet voice of my heart in the nighttime. In the distance I see the purple sheets, I am almost there, falling repeatedly with my head against the tattered carpet. Wishing I had played my cards differently. Wishing I had remained stationary, playing solitaire in my mind until I had met Hypnos.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.well back in my days (2 years ago)... you could groove to Patti Smith sing her rock 'n' roll ******, and listen to American Head Charge cover the same song... you could actually listen to Die Krupps Nazis auf Speed... back in my day - you weren't deemed a 70 year old nostalgia steam-train... while still in your early 30s; good luck finding that Patti Smith track... might as well resort to róże europy: kości czerwone, kośsci czarne (european roses: red bones, black bones)... and to think the *** pistols got away with their shenanigans... 40 years prior; Patti Smith! come on! it's a great tune! or tuning... whichever.

racial slurs... so the suffix in
schwarze-negger is
a collective private property?!
Dr. Dre can say it,
as urban insult,
and i'm reduced to a colonial
past that isn't even mine?!
can i say the names
of countries like Nigh-ger-ia...
or Nigh-ger?
          can it just be an urban
slur these days?
   compared to spawn,
yes, black panther *****...
***** on a lemon before
******* on ***...
          what's next:
yo... walking *****?!
      the ****... well... if we're
in the interracial Olympics,
i once ****** a bony black
girl with a Kama Sutra slim, tight,
that it wouldn't require a 12"
to ******* a Ghanian lard
yo-yo...
               pulverized
the soft pouch of flesh where my
***** originate from
using her coccyx...
   ****...
          even i didn't expect
finding out the riff...
   on joan jett & the blackhearts'
song i hate myself for loving
you...
      i'm with the Ire on the topic
of racial slurs...
   instead of "offense"...
we resort to head-butts...
   like the two Posen bucks...
running headlong into
a bare canvas...
            comment section?
well... obviously i take off
my Francis Bacon mask.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 26
Of life's time-like haiku, they love the place
and on this profound night I feel the light of
the sun, lest it make it with that mind of great
thought goes out the stars of the clear rays
of the social landscape of the thoughts of the society
of her zeal has lost the milder course of proceeding
before the man who goeth up into the life of the body
of the drink of Uranus, the year of the knowledge
of the most righteous scribes, who works all they
have change related to face-******* in fall, the sea,
the green despair of a simple mother of the
Ideas to choose the leftist stories I hear burning,
thinking the rain little call garden blue finally
begins days of heaven head to smoke,
remember error power planet, hunting moon
concepts decide to corrupt leaving full withdrawal
will convince ready to live in the middle of the day
dream day sad sad title three draw some confusion
decision flowers bring production capacity will
help pay age bay are free to join, will be built
knew that feels the regeneration of the morning
flower delivery darkness is always difficult
to overcome, hurting plots of winter of the year
lies the fate of the mainstream human red 'm',
the hard work, the ****** and the issue of the fear
of birth, he was before his dear lass of deceit:
He hath scattered getting cold,  to read the minds
of the journey matters of state a hundred sheep,
deleted the laughter of the wake from the harvest,
they became ferocious of life, online to the sense
of beauty, you shall lie for the sake of the hidden
driving of clinical raw with tears, in withstanding It;
                              part Laura, part of the wind
takes away the pain of losing the greatest part,
dig his exhortation; the face of a leaden, pallid,
wilderness, is acted upon to be silent against
the wall of white now, O Lucifer, by the waves
on a sudden sneeze often be restrained by 'c'
the sand of the spoke weeks before he called
to start the choir   Talk more slowly than good
luck would be best of the Orcs of the darkness
of the friends of the point being at ease being
at ease: for I look to leave the current of the clouds
the image of a deep sleep to great cry of the light
was heaven bright with a pole of a high degree
the reasons for and brought him to Kingdom μ
equals ability; Big Security, Bodies strongly in
eternity with their; Without a pair of Garden
acknowledges Most Scratch; any true music star,
Us = ignorance: Grow, learn Transference, Death.
sit; Let planet waves closing Content of the world
began from the Aged World's Shifting generations
is the wrong type of Swirl On the assumption,
Increasing the price of the **** of a cloth, the earth
was gathered together at the hand of their courage
restored to maintain a stable the ears of the memory
of the beard, turn, shake off the refoveo;
the movement of the perfume, to ****
with the darkness of the building rise
up to rebuild the humidity of the at times
in the flower of the clock, aileron the evils
of human eat of the king in months;
Performance to break into the world
by chance, a case of the empty mass
of the definition of their ineffective,
and accused those he loved investors
agree with the steam of water release
is necessary passion totally lost 500;
DNA willingly giving way to know
the source of hunger fast to respond
wave of nervous laughter draws high
geometry, killing constant paddle banks
led insanity's melody to the personality;
contacts experiments, rude forest unclog
& drives rubbing gloves smart machines
improved detection of hot soft headlong
confused, sometimes the price of the dog
to see plans cruder that they are fighting for
direct retreat with a dreadful crash of air
conditioning to sleep on the sidewalk fighting wheel;
water was treated to govern children's sand
abuse lawsuits, lover  of Nature's operation;
flipper-**** the evil doers: for the production
of the war of the gate, communicate Syntax
in bulk, the fall,                                              when they refused of the world:
to repeat its distorted the figures
according to the proportion has reduced
the odor from the importance of, an astonishment,
co nnec tv cards run: praise ye the spaces
of the understanding of being angry, but the lips
of a small amount of the infinite is the daughter
of the sand of the bumble in bulk, the weak things of the flocks
                                                        of­ my pasture are the network,
                                                        ­shattered in the city, the crashing
                                                        fear of a nuclear-lost passions
of the soul to shameless signs & tools
found in cheap houses sensational conflict
encounter great difficulty in finding dictates;
RMN air-conditioned expiration debt
over the course of a civil society with
the greatest losses I look crazy of life time-like
haiku they love the place and the profound night
I feel the light of the sun, lest it make
it with that mind of great thought
goes out to the stars of the clear rays
of the social land of the thoughts of the society
of her zeal has lost the milder course
of proceeding before a man who goeth up
into the life of the body of the drink of Uranus,
                                 the year of the knowledge of the most righteous scribes,
who works all they have change
related to face-******* to fall, the sea,
the green despair of a simple mother
of the Ideas to choose the left stories;
I hear burning thinking it the rain's little
call garden blue finally begins days of heaven
                                                  head to smoke, remember
error power planet
hunt moon concept
decide to corrupt leaving full
withdrawal will convince ready-to-live    in the middle of the day dream day sad sad title three draw some confusion
decision flowers bring production
capacity; will help pay age bay are free to join,
will be built knew that feels the regeneration
of the morning flower delivery of darkness
is always difficult to overcome, hurting plots of winter
of the year lies the fate of the mainstream human
red m the hard work, the ******
and the issue of the fear of the birth,
he was before his dear lass of deceit:
He hath scattered getting cold,
to read minds of the journey
matters of state;
a hundred sheep, deleted like
the laughter of the wake
from the harvest, they became
ferocious of life,
& online to the sense of beauty,
you shall lie for the sake of the hidden
deriving of clinically raw with tears,
in withstanding It, par lorem *****
part of the wind takes away the pain
of losing the greatest part dig his exhortation;
the face of leaden, pallid, a wilderness,
is acted upon to be silent against the wall of white now,
O Lucifer, by the waves on a sudden sneeze
often be restrained by c the sand of the spoke
weeks before he called to start the choir
Talk more slowly, than good luck would
be best of the Orcs of the darkness of the friends of the point being at ease being at ease: for I look to leave the current
the clouds, the image of a deep sleep to great cry of the light was heaven; bright with a pole of a high degree, the reasons for and brought him to Kingdom μ equals ability;
Big Security Bodies strongly in eternity
with their Without a pair of Garden acknowledge;
                           Most Scratch any true music star,
Us ignorance Grows to learn Transcendence
of Death sit; Let planet waves closing Content
of the world began from the Aged World Shift
[ ]ng generation is wrong type Swirly;
On the assumption, Increasing the price
of the **** of a cloth, the earth was gathered
together at the hand of their courage, restored
to maintain a stable the ears of the memory
of the beard, turn, shake off the retro foveo,
the movement
of the perfume,         to **** with the darkness
of the building rise up to rebuild the humidity
of the at times in the flower of the clock;
aileron the evils of human eat of the king in months
Performance to break into the world by chance,
a case of the empty mass of the definition of their ineffective,
and accused those he loved;
investors agree with the steam of water,   release is necessary;
passion totally lost 500 DNA willingly,
giving way to know the source of hunger;
fast to respond to waves of nervous
laughter draws high geometry & killing constantly;
paddle banks led insanity to the melody personality
contacts experiments rude forest;
unclog drive rubbing gloves
smart machines improve detects
hot soft headlong confused
sometimes the price of the dog
to see plans crude that they are
fighting for direct retreat with a
dreadful crash of the air conditioning
to sleep on the sidewalk fighting
wheel water was treated govern
children sand abuse lawsuits lover
Nature's operation fippa the evil doers:
for the production of the war
of the gate, communicate Syntax in bulk,
the fall, when they refused of the world:
to repeat it distorted the figures according
to the proportion has reduced the odor
from the importance of, an astonishment,
co nnec t cards run: praise ye the spaces
of the understanding of being angry, but
the lips of a small amount of the infinite
is the daughter of the sand of the bumble
in bulk, the weak things of the flocks             of my pasture are the network,
                              shattered in the city, the crashing the fear of nuclear-lost passions of the soul
to a shameless sign;
tools were found in cheap houses
sensational conflicts encounter
great difficulty in finding the dictates;
RMN air-conditioned expiration
debt over the course of a civil society
with the greatest losses,                                                      I look crazy of life,
at the time of haiku, who love the place
and the deep night I feel the sunlight,
not to do with this mind a great thought
coming from the stars of the clear rays
of the social earth the thoughts of the company zealos;
he has lost the smoother process with a
man coming up in the life of the body drinking from Uranus,
during the year by the knowledge of the
most righteous secretaries whose works
only relate to the **** Falls, sea green despair
of a single mother, his ideas for stories f---, a left.
I heard how it burns out thinking that the rain,
which calls the small garden, eventually
begins in the days of the sky. Head to smoke,
remember the mistake. full removal, conjecture,
ready to live in the middle of the day day
sad dream three title draw a few decision
decision flowers bear productive capacity
will help pay for the age of the ****** are
free to participate will be made known
that you feel the regeneration                                In the delivery of flowers,
                                                        darkness­ is always difficult to overcome. frame in the winter of the year
is the fate of human strength, hard work,
****** words and the theme of the fear of birth,
which was presented to the beloved girl
of the deception has been dispersed by chilling;
read the minds of travel are state affairs
a hundred sheep,      let the laughter of the harvest awakening,
become more intense life, according to the concept of beauty,
are for the sake of nature. Driving raw materials hidden clinic
with tears, to resist, most parts of the wind eliminates the pain
of losing more than its inducement; face a lead, a pale, desert,
acts to keep silent against a white wall now, Lucifer, from the
waves to a sudden sneeze is often confined by the Radio Arena
weeks before called to start the choir, slower than good luck
will be the best of the swear by the dark of friends
from the point where you feel comfortable:
because I see letting the picture clouds flow
from a deep sleep with a great scream of light was the bright sky
with a high sky. - Qualify the reasons
and brought to Grandes security forces
equal ability of the United States largely
in eternity with without a couple of gardens
recognizing the real beginning; every star
of the real music ignored, learning
to Transfer Death's Stand,                            Leaving the waves on the planet;
closing the world's content started
from the production of the world;
Age wrong type Shift[ ]ng Tornado,
Assuming that rising prices is a **** cloth,
earth[ ]r, come from his hand restored
value to maintain a steady equilibrium torque.
Beard recalls ears, in turn, shaking the
movement of fragrances and killing the darkness
of the building to rebuild flower moisture's
watch on the feather, the suffering of people.
Eat the King in months;                    Efficiency to enter the world by chance,
a case of the tare of its ineffective definition,
and blame those who loved the investors
like steam releases the water,   completely
losing the passionate 500 DNA volunteers
to know the source of hunger for fast response to waves of nervous
laughter, drawing high geometry
& constantly killing banks of madness;  paddles tune into contacts
with forest personality experiments,
discovering gloves rubbed to unveil
management's smart machines; Ions
feelings smooth head with confused
times; the dog to see the first plans
to retire immediately struggling with
a terrible blow air conditioning to sleep
on the pavement. Abuse decisions fun
lovers FIPPA villains of nature: for the
war production by the door,                              communicating drafts in bulk,
fall when they rejected the world:
repeat altered the elements according
to the reduced odor proportion the
importance of the miracle, run the letters,
praise comprehension spaces to be angry
but her lips, a small amount of infinity is
the daughter of bumblebee sand mass,         weak things led out of the flocks
of me, the meadows of the network
destroyed in the city the shock of fear of a lost soul's passionate
nuclear glaring indication.                               Tools found, Cheap residences              
The sense
of conflict faces great difficulty in finding the dictation.                     During
                                                the most mossy of civil societies, I seem crazy
#x

A Skeleton gunslinger, takes on the Unholy of **** and wages war against his nemesis Hatchet, as a portal to **** threatens to unleash the putrid, rancid, Unholy hordes onto a desolate planet. "


The bringer of Death arrived in Dakota. Custer's Seventh lay dying on the Powder river and the Ancients had sent him to walk the Earth and help the Ghost-walkers to hold their land. In his mortal days, he carried a torch for Serela, an outcast from the Mind seekers.That's what got him killed in the first place. The saloon was full that night, and he was called out.
He pulled his gun first and knew he would die. His death was foretold in the ancient scriptures of truth. 'The bone that liveth shall slay the flesh and the flesh will become liveth bone'.
Justice will walk the plains and avenge the truth'.
Serela had looked on as a bullet pierced the gunslinger's skull.The spirit of the ancients swept through her soul then, as she watch his head explode, filtering its entrance into the new receptacle of justice.

No one saw the killer shadow draw or witnessed it's departure but John Bitumen's body lay dead, the blood flowing from a hole in his forehead. Even as he died, he was reborn.
The Skull of Death in search of a gunfight, Deathbringer, Cleanser of Evil.


Hatchet looked at his mangy horse, a wasted beast worn out and at the end of it's road.Two years it carried his weight and the saddle dug deep.Whippings were constant and the calloused cruel fists of Hatchet rained down on it's neck if it slowed any.The nearest town was a mile down the road and it was late in the day.
That was all it took to set the anger in motion.Hatchet took five paces away from his horse and hurled his razor sharp hatchet with violence. The horse's head was split in two.
He hauled his saddle, and wrestled his ****** weapon from the dead horse, then walked into the dusk. All the time, Serela had observed from the Spirit's eye, an artefact of the Ancients, entrusted to the Mind Seekers. Hatchet would pay for his offence against Nature's pure beast, for it was written' All Creatures will walk the Earth and all will be held Holy.Swift will be Divine retribution against those who slay the pure beast'.
Hatchet wasn't one to read the ancient scriptures and could not know that the Skull of Death would search him out in the next town.The Ancients had called forth their Gunslinger and a skeletal hand rested on the sacred Gun of Abe. Hatchet would be called out and a Gunfight would settle scores. A chill in the air unnerved him and he took comfort in carresing his ivory handled pistols.


Darkness fell on the land and the half moon shone on the dead horse.The night crawlers made to cut it's remains and scavenge it's carcass. Two hands were raised to the sky, pleading for forgiveness. Horsemeat was forbidden and a desecration of sacred laws.
A knife was produced and held to the beast's throat. In that moment, all became aware of the onlooker.A tall figure in a drab grey longcoat, black spurred boots, an old black stetson. The Sacred Gun of Abe was in his hands. The Skull of Death, the Ancients Gunslinger, walked the Plains once more.
All seven night crawlers stared in disbelief. Their last minutes of life ebbing from them as the eyes of the Ancients warrior scanned their souls and cremated their bodies.Seven figures suddenly engulfed in flames under the incessant stare of the Skull's empty sockets. Amongst the embers, the Gunslinger knelt beside the horse. In his mortal days, this beast was his closest companion.Hatchet had stolen his possession and the sight of it's remains stirred an anguished scream for the horrific end which befell his steed.

Gently the Gun of Abe was placed on the horse's neck. A small bottle of holy oil was rubbed in it's wounds.' Though death may stalk the pure, truly I say to you that righteousness will prevail and the dead will rise'. Even as the words were uttered, a ball of blue flame enveloped the horse. The light illuminated the darkness and from the light the skeleton of a horse emerged, raising itself up on its hind legs, in defiance of death. Approaching the Gunslinger, it nuzzled it's head to his skull, the brilliance of it's chalk white bones radiating a supernatural hue. Mounting his steed, he galloped into the night.Vengeance was coming.Death on a horse was looking for Hatchet!


Raihna woke suddenly and locked eyes withHatchet. She had been ordered to sleep with him, against her wishes. 'Something wrong with me, *****? Hatchet snarled when he'd paid his ten dollars to the House Madam.
'You better be worth it *****! He had roughed her up before falling into a drunken slumber. Now he was standing in his ragged long johns, at the end of the four poster bed.
A manic look was in his beady eyes, as he swigged his liquor jar. Unkempt rank hair covered his weasel like features. Reeking of horse and trail sweat, an **** belly adorning his uglier frame, he leered for the longest time.Raihna took it all in, especially the hatchet in his right hand. 'Think you're mighty purdy, don't ya! he sneered. ' Let's see what you look like with a hair cut'!
Raihna noticed then that he had pinned her pigtails to the wooden headboard. Realising a scream would be the end of her, she stared back and waited. Hatchet hurled his weapon and it sliced into the headboard, shorning her hair.From the table, he grabbed his bowie knife and aimed for the other pigtail, slicing it off and nicking her neck. 'Well lookee now' he laughed as a trace of blood ran down her neck. 'Ain't you gonna scream, *****?


An eerie blue glow filtered into the room just then and the whinny and snortin' of a horse filled the air. 'What in ****'s name? muttered Hatchet. Looking out of the curtains, he saw the chalk white Skeleton of a horse and a skeleton rider brandishing a pistol. A fiery blue-red low glow radiated from their eyes and it seemed both rider and steed were on fire. Hatchet shouted out ' You one of them Resurrectionists?!' suddenly remembering the old shaman he had killed back in Piebald.
Hatchet had stolen his runes and kept them for trading with the Mindseekers. He thought now that maybe this was him come looking for him from the afterworld. Hot ***** trickled down his leg and he felt scared and sick to his stomach.

The gallows await !' It was almost a whisper as the ancients gunslinger raised his head towards the window. Hatchet grabbed Raihna and tried to shield himself from the spectre below. His mind raced as he hesitated, panic flooding his brain. 'Take them! We be even! he gambled as he threw the runes at the gunslinger. Even as he did so, they were grabbed instantaneously by a skeletal hand and placed around the gunslinger's neck. For these were the runes of time and in the coming trials would decide the balance of power between the Unholy and the Just.


Hatchet had thrown away his trump card and even as he loaded his gun, he was destined to die. 'Pearls before swine' whispered into the room and Hatchet descended the stairs, with Raihna in front. His pistol was cocked and he would shoot it out. If **** was waiting, he wasn't going on his own. His hatchet lay in his side belt and he made his way onto the street.
The hallway was pitch black and Hatchet cautiously approached the parlour door hoping to get out the back street. He held a vice-like grip on Raihna's arm as he pushed her along. 'You keep your mouth shut ***** and open that door easy' he whispered, his voice betraying his inner terror. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he felt the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed hard to the back of his head. 'You take your claws offa my girl, Hatchet 'less you wants your **** brains spilled where you stand!
Hatchet knew Charlotte, the House madam, wasn't bluffing. He'd seen her do it too, back in Abilene, when China Jack beat up one of her girls. She'd shot him straight through his throat and followed up with a clean shot to his manhood. It hurt Hatchet even now just thinking about it'. Jesus! he thought as he cursed his situation. Things were moving too fast and nothing was going his way.
Hatchet loosened his grip, carefully holstering his gun.As she moved away, Raihna spat on his face and kneed him in the groin. ****! he bellowed and went to strike Raihna. His hearing saved her, as Charlotte cocked the gun and stopped him where he stood. 'Think I'd sleep easy with you on the premises, Hatchet? Take me for a fool? I don't know what the **** is out on that street but it wants you!' By Christ, you're going out the front door to face it too!. 'Always were a cowardly *******, now move you lousy **** head!
Raihna had gotten hold of a shotgun and had it trained on Hatchet. 'Drop that hatchet right now, she said. ' You're facing that creature with your gun and nothing else! God knows you don't deserve even that much. Hatchet dropped his hatchet. 'Now kick it over here!' He did so and as Raihna picked it up, she hurled it back immediately into his right thigh, gashing him like a pig for the slaughter. Hatchet screamed in agony and Charlotte pulled it out of his thigh as the room sprayed with the red bloom of imminent death. Now move you *******!


Charlotte and Raihna ushered him towards the front door and kicked him into the dark dusty side street. 'You got it coming, Hatchet!, they shouted and there waiting for him was the Ancients Gunslinger. He had dismounted from his steed and now faced Hatchet.The look of death was in the Skull's eerie sockets and it was all Hatchet could do to stop his hands shaking. He threw up and finally faced the spectre before him.

'For those who have suffered, shall be avenged. The Righteous Light will shine on the Unholy and all dark souls shall be driven from the Plains. Fear will walk amongst them and even the shadows shall despise their ways.'
Thus it had been written and now was coming to pass.


Hatchet went for his gun, and time slowed down as his eyes scanned the scene. A chalk, pure white, skeletal hand reached for a gun and the fluid movement captured his attention. Hatchet knew he had been outdrawn and could see the gunslinger's bullet leave the smoking barrell, pristine, crafted by a master gunsmith. He noticed the leather holster, worn and faded, almost an antiquity, strapped to a dark trousered leg.
The long coat, ghastly grey, adorning the bones of the undead. Empty eyes stared him down, as he heard his own gun's sharp report and watched his bullet sail towards the spectre. Just before the gunslingers bullet blew his brains out, he finally noticed the spectre of the horse and instinctively knew this was the brutalised beast he had so callously slain. Blood and bone exploded violently and the mortal remains of Hatchet dropped to the ground.
Hatchet didn't know it then but he too was about to be reborn; for the Unholy were about to unleash the Scourge of Hossana and the Ancients Gunslinger stood in their way. Hatchet would be forged in the cauldron of **** and in the coming trials would once again face the Sacred Gun of Abe.


Hatchet became conscious, and felt as ill as a cow in a slaughter house. The smell of death was rancid and his vision seemed out of focus. A nauseating, sickly stench permeated his nostrils and he winced as the pungent odour inflated his lungs. He was aware his whole body was bitter cold and he shivered uncontrollably. If this was a hangover, then it was the worst he'd ever been. Terrifyingly, he noticed that he was manacled, face down, to a massive ice block.
Encased within the block was a dead horse, it's head split in two, exposing brain matter, decayed pulped flesh, and grizzled bone. It's mouth was fixed in a ghastly grimace with it's eyes looking back into Hatchet's, it's gory mane matted in dirt.
His screams were hideous to hear and were lost in the din of the thousands of screams echoing within the air.The sound was deafening and burst his ears as the terror built up within him. Hatchet knew then he was in ****, amongst the thousands of fallen souls now in the possesion of the Unholy.
His whole being was perished with unbearable, intense cold yet he could see flames, blazing blue and orange, feet away from him taunting him with intense glow.
Still the shrieks and squeals of thousands around him assailed his ears! The amplified volume resonated in his brain as his own screams built to a crescendo!
Yet, no light radiated from the flames and the pitch black illuminated only the horse within the ice block and the grimace which would be eternal. Still Hatchet screamed till he felt his throat would explode and his mind begged for deliverance! It was then that his shoulders and back ignited with agonising pain as he felt the sting of a whip.
Again and again the whip found it's mark and his flesh was pulverised. He cried out for forgiveness and begged to be spared and still he was lashed.He prayed to pass out and knew he never would ! For he was in **** and the blackest deeds were now held to account.
A voice bellowed at him'Welcome Brother Hatchet! We will have a purpose for you soon! Enjoy the interim! Many more punishments await you yet until you are ready'. The eerie voice trailed off as Hatchet continued to be whipped. His agonising screams drowned the air and was unheard amongst the thousand others. Still the horse fixed it's empty eyes and stared at Hatchet and its grimace took pleasure in his suffering.

Seven days passed since Hatchet was despatched to ****, and darkness fell on the Plains like a widows veil. No light illuminated the Earth and the Lakota knew this was the sign of the coming trials. The Ghost-walkers had appealed to the Great Spirit and no one who witnessed their victory at the Powder River could deny their courage.Truly this was evidence of the Spirit's intervention in their way of life. Reports had come in to Chief Red Cloud of a figure of flame riding amongst the Buffalo. A Skeleton on fire, riding the Skeleton of a horse at full charge. It seemed the very ground they rode upon was a torch of lightning, and the figure was at one with the Buffalo. Red Cloud rode out to witness it himself and noticed the blue-orange glow, like an aura of defiance, surrounding the figure. In it's hand was a gun, and Red Cloud recognised it as the Sacred Gun of Abe.
Many tales had been passed down from his ancestors, and Red Cloud knew this figure was sacred to his tribe.The Ancients Gunslinger would play a role in the destiny of his People.The Whiteman would pay a heavy price for the desecration of the traditions and way of life of those under the protection of the Great Spirit. He knew too that an enemy would arise which would destroy the Whiteman, and all the Earth's inhabitants. Only the Native American would take the battle to the Enemy, aided by the Ancients and the Mind Seekers.
Red Cloud knew his people looked to him for leadership, and he would provide it.They would hear how Red Cloud rode with the Ghost Rider and take pride in his courage. His fate was tied to the Ancients Gunslinger, and this had been preordained in the ancient Scriptures. Red Cloud looked down at the flaming figure and dug his knees into his horse. Charging down the hill, he shouted out a proud battle cry, and rode like the wind to the side of the Ghost Rider.In their trail the Buffalo followed.The trials ahead would be met and the Unholy would do battle with their most dangerous enemy.



**** it Charlotte! 'It don't make sense!
Hatchet weren't killed by no ghost, for Christ sake! Marshall John Lancaster was tired and couldn't believe the events which occurred in his absence. He had just brought in Ned Marlow.Got two of his men killed doing it, and suffered a leg wound himself in the shoot out. Marlow had been holed up in Tinkers Creek and came out unexpectedly with his guns blazing as the posse approached the log cabin. It had suddenly turned pitch dark, and all the horses got spooked, causing confusion amongst the lawman's officers.
Ned Marlow knew Hatchet; had lost an eye in a bar brawl to him once.It was said Hatchet carried the eye around with him ever since.
Ned was closing in on Hatchet, bent on revenge, and swore he'd see him dead. Suddenly a shot rang out, and startled Lancaster.
Ned had headbutted the Marshall's deputy as he was being placed in the holding cell.He had grabbed the deputy's gun then and blown a hole clean through him. Carelessness, or tiredness, maybe both, had cost him his life. Ned didn't give no quarter when his own life was on the line. He weren't going to no hangman's noose neither. He burst into the Marshall's office then and fired off two shots catching Lancaster in the left arm wounding him badly. The Marshall got off one reactive shot catching Ned's left ear.The sound deafened him and he put a slug through the Marshall's head.The fragrance of gunpowder filled the room and Charlotte could only look on.'You're coming with me, Honey!'bellowed Marlow as he grabbed her hair, pulling her close, and made his way onto the streets. A gun was held to Charlotte's head and Ned was figuring his next move.


He was too busy watching the streets but if he'd looked up, he would have seen a hatchet hurtling towards him with violent intent. The hatchet caught his gun hand and severed it clean off his wrist. Ned now had the indignity of losing his right hand.He screamed in agony as blood squirted from his severed wrist, spraying Charlotte in a plume of lifes red wine. Ned looked to the ground and his own hand lay there, holding his pistol, it's finger still on the trigger. Legend would record the severed hand fired off a shot moments after it's horrific amputation. Ned Marlow didn't know it then, but he too would play a role in the coming trials. The Unholy knew it only too well for it had been written 'The Deaf shall hear, the Blind shall see, and the hand of the sinner will turn on the Unholy'.


There the severed hand lay. A ghastly, grotesque, weather worn obscenity.
The gun had been removed from it's grasp since it's horrific amputatation from Ned Marlow. Three days had passed since the incident and no one dared to remove it from the street.cOminously, no decay had festered to spoil that monstrosity;for life still lingered within it's ghoulish flesh. Mangy street dogs looked at it with curiosity, yet kept a tentative distance. The little finger still wore a silver ring, set with a black stone. Once it had belonged to an ancient Pagan High King, who had been slaughtered in battle. An artefact from a distant time, carried across Europe into the America's. Evil had tainted it's properties and the Sons of the Unholy had sought it since. The ring now sought a new owner as the severed hand, an abomination of creation, crawled, like a filthy worm in the dirt. Slowly, laboriously, with uncanny certainty, the wretched hand made it's way towards the room of the one who had hurled the hatchet.


Raihna sat alone in her bedroom.The hatchet lay across her lap and it was emitting a low hum, almost inaudible, but she had heard it. At first she thought madness was setting in, but she realised that the voices communicating with her were real; the Mind Seekers had chosen her.
Her mind and body became a telepathic conduit and she was absorbed in receiving the messages. The Ancients were channelling through her and a deep trance held her almost comatose.
Slowly, sickening slow, the hand crawled it's way towards her., Grubby, thick, fingers inching themselves stealthily, dangerously close, while Raihna was immersed in the communication.
Her eyes were closed in the deep state between the conscious and the unconscious, so she could not witness the fingers wrap themselves around the handle of the Hatchet. Both hand and clasped hatchet lifted silently from her lap. As the hand moved to distance the weapon from her, the ring glowed a greenish hue, emanating the presence of the Unholy. Suddenly the hand lunged at Raihna's throat!
Raihna's life was ebbing into eternity.The possessed, filthy, unholy amputation squeezed her windpipe with the vengence of perpetual hostility. The ring on the severed hand's finger glowed brighter, as her life force lay on the threshold of destruction. It seemed as though the light of a thousand burning suns illuminated that room. A portal to **** had been created and Raihna was pulled into that abyss. She was neither dead nor alive, for the Unholy had need of a ****.The hatchet too was ****** into that void as it was destined to be reunited with Hatchet.The light was blinding and it seemed the very Earth could have been swallowed; as though the Gods had abandoned all of Creation!
Yet there he stood! A blazing figure astride a blazing horse.The chalk white bones of a skeleton horse carrying the Ancients Gunslinger towards the entrance to ****! The ancient scriptures had written ' The Liveth Bone shall ride into ****, and the Unholy shall cower'.
The Sacred Gun of Abe shall wield the vengeance of the Ages and the Earth and Heavens shall shake'. Thus it had been written and was now coming to pass.
A portal to **** had opened and the Gunslinger charged into that cesspool of abomination. No Horse ever galloped with such energy and the Unholy prepared for the skirmish.The Gunslinger was possessed with a relentless rage for Justice. **** quaked as both rider and horse fearlessly charged into the bowels of Evil's pestilent abode.
Furious at this brazen affront, the Unholy now made to close that portal. Even as they did so, Hatchet was resurrected from his tormented existence. His hatchet was reunited with him as he prepared to once again face the Gunslinger.Raihna must be rescued; for her destiny was tied to the Earth's salvation. For now, she lay in a corner of **** watched over by a severed hand. The screams and anguished cries of all the lost souls in **** echoed in the stagnant air. Still the Rider charged furiously as he sought to gather Raihna to his arms. A ****** hatchet sailed towards him and **** looked on.


Hatchet charged from the cage of demons, his face etched with the pain of perpetual torment. His emaciated form like a malignant Phoenix rising from the ashes of ****. The pitiful creature carrying his burden reared from his weight. A wretched carcass of a decayed horse which had been ressurected for battle. That same horse which had been encased within the ice block;whose ****** head Hatchet had split open when both were mortals on the Earth. Man and beast now tools for the Unholy; possessed by the collective evil of all who now suffered in ****.cTheir dark energy would now be harnessed for the coming trials. A gruesome grimace was fixed on the horse's face and it's empty eyes stared ahead as Hatchet charged towards the Gunslinger. His violent countenace expressed the deadly intentions which would be borne down upon his enemy.
He had hurled his weapon and watched as it made it's deadly trajectory towards the Gunslinger. As the hatchet spun and revolved through the air, Hatchet emmitted the scream of the demented. The Gunslinger had lowered in his saddle and the hatchet narrowly missed it's target. Continuing on it's course, it landed in the back of one of the screaming forgotten whose souls were doomed to eternal agony.
Both riders now crashed headlong into one another and Hatchet fell from his horse. The Sacred Gun of Abe was now in the Gunslinger's hand and a skeletal finger pulled the trigger.
Once again, Hatchet would witness a bullet discharge from it's revolving chamber. His head exploded as the bullet entered his brain, exiting in one piece and landing in the dank soil of ****.The blessed relic purified the soil and the Unholy recoiled with revulsion.
The dead cannot die and Hatchet struggled back to his feet. Grabbing the Gunslinger's reins, he attempted to pull him down. It was then that the runes around the Gunslinger's neck pierced the air with a deafening incantation.
The Unholy screamed as the Holy words of the Ancient Scriptures filtered into the bowels of iniquity and shook the foundations of ****.
Hatchet reeled back and grabbed his hatchet from the spine of the forgotten sinner. He looked up then and witnessed a warrior's lance sail through the air.It violently struck and impaled the severed hand guarding Raihna.
Red Cloud had accompanied the Gunslinger in his charge into ****!
Greg Berlin Oct 2018
Paint ourselves a picture:
cold, white winds up against
winter coats and puffs of breath
in dotted lines leaving cursive lips.
Two pink hands held without
gloves, fingers twisted together
despite the cold.

Oils and pastels that blend bright
blue smiles and sharp white-teeth
fences, shaping toward the gilded
hues of a forever sunset that is
never quite ready to go yet.

Colors huddle in thick pools
of a future sketched out in long
ochre strokes on canvas—
a million shades of purple and
orange tell a life that
skipped its ‘if’ and moved
headlong into ‘when.’

A million colors, a million shades.
A sunset, an oak tree turned to autumn,
a crayon drawing on a refrigerator:
two big ones and three little ones,
a slanted red pentagon house,
a yellow scribble of fur.

Paint ourselves a picture: jagged dark lines. Sleepless ink that sits and thinks and can’t quite seem to get through to itself. Dreamless ink that runs down pages in opaque streams and gets nowhere. Thick, blackened tar that covers everything with shadows, covers everything with long stretches of black, a stain:
Hands held in the cold,
Red houses on a hill.
Johnny Noiπ Aug 2018
protesting *****;
down w/ this &
that; neo-Nazis
marching waving
weird geek flags
worshiping white
people from space;
Pride Marches
celebrating golden
underwear &
too much lipstick;
macho *****
******* yelling it
out; Slutwalking
through downtown
challenging **** &
mysogyny dressed
as **** Barbies;
gender color trans
light a joint & sit
on the grass smoking
lovely, got my kpop,
got my g/bf; Toni,
Tony, Antoinette,
Anthony; neo-Nazis
rushing headlong
back into the dustbin
of history; prostitutes
pretend to be fembots;
acting like brainless
machines unless smart
as Jeopardy contestants;
****** cosplay fetish,
no cash, no crime; no
crime, no cops; no war
Emily Oct 2018
What would you do for adrenaline?

Speed along uneven country roads,
Aim just right for that special ****,
Fly upward unexpectedly,
Drop back down with a thump?

Sweat in a long queue,
Strap oneself in tight,
Fly up and spin around,
Drop to earth from a great height?

Pay for an airplane,
Add a parachute,
Jump bravely,
Create a new route?

The great lengths some will go,
Simply for a rush of adrenaline,

But what would you do for adrenaline from these?

Misplacing a wallet,
Racing to its last known location,
Discovering a stranger took it,
Wondering if it will ever return home?

Driving placidly along,
Stopping abruptly,
Missing by an inch a hit headlong,
Hoping the car behind will stop?

Why pay hundreds to risk life and limb by diving through the sky, yet do anything to keep one’s wallet?

Both produce adrenaline;
one for free with no risk of life and limb, yet it’s the riskier one,
that’s sought even at great cost!

Perhaps it’s because:
adrenaline is best enjoyed when expected?
What do you think? Is my theory valid?
J R Cramer Dec 2018
Had I known I’d make it this far,

Would I have taken better care?

Would I have walked by one bar?

Passed on one affair?

Declined a chemical adjustment?

Favored good sense over whim?

Deferred to my better judgement?

Forgone ribeye for kale so grim?

Of course not.

Assuming only survival had confirmation

And the aftermath of each decision

Were still open to speculation,

There would be no need for revision.
Suspending loss or gain,

And ignoring others’ wrath,

The fact that I remain

Confirms the virtue of my path.

Well, that may be going too far,

But, unrepentant, I’m already there.

Strange faith in fate served me well, so far

And pulled me through without a care.

Yet my waywardness in both fact and fame

Was no less reckless, no less wild

Than of friends fallen in this game

Some so young - less man, more child.



I’ve indeed fared better

Than friends of long ago

Who broke through every fetter

Unwilling the prized cheese to forego

And in a headlong rush

Lunged,  heedless of the twang and snap

And fell to the deadly crush

0f fate’s cold steel trap.

Spring-loaded, compelling,

The trap holds undeniable sway,

But upon that I won’t be dwelling

While I have cheese enough for today.


Was I lucky?  Doubtless so.

Was I canny in avoiding fate?

I guess, but how much, who could know?

So there are no values to equate,

And no formula for a survivor’s guide

To having one’s cake and eating it, too.

Such book would be hailed far and wide

A bestseller!  But patently untrue.

The truth is that I have no idea

Why I’m now facing longevity,

Why, against all odds, I’m still here

In defiance of expected brevity.

So maybe I’m just the Second Mouse,

Distracted, wandering o’er the map,

Drifting from room to room, house to house

Appearing just after some unlucky sprung the trap.

At that point, what for me remains

But to show respect, doff my hat

And set to the work that pertains

To cheese management and growing fat.

My fate will arrive, neither too soon nor too late

An unknowable appointment’s been set,

‘Til then the whys and hows prove pointless debate

While I have good company and cheese enough yet.

— The End —