I hit a Jack Rabbit going sixty or seventy five,
I turned off the radio,
I was on the road for 18 hours already,
thats when shadows come alive,
I never hit anything before,
never killed anything that big.

When I was 14, I lived in Kansas, Kansas city granted,
but Kansas all the same.
We would go to my friends farm,
he owned enough guns for a small militia,
mostly shotguns.
There were 3 of us, with three scatter killing booms.
We would rake the fields to flush anything out,
crickets,
grasshoppers,
we hoped for ducks or quail
(I only pretended too, I wasn't sure then if my ***** really dropped)
and we would shoot,
Sometimes for the noise,
other times for the show.
I never killed anything.
On the way back home I saw a little chickadee perched high in a tree,
I shot,
and he fell.
"Nice one man!"
I ran over, hiding my tears, and buried him.
I got out of there as soon as I could, Kansas that is,
I was stuck at the farm.

Eight years later and I'm still not sure about my *****.
This time I didn't bury him.
I like to think it was male,
for some reason that lessens the pain.
I don't know if I crushed the life out of him quickly,
I imagine it was slow,
toturing myself with every detail as my retribution.

Made a nice thump though.
I could feel his delicate body even through the tire the shocks and the rest of the parts between me and his ****** corpse.

Softer than a speed bump.
Why did Dorothy ever go home.

As humans we love what is forbidden.
our cowering fingers reaching.
yet never grasping.

As humans we think we deserve the world
our golden scissors shredding away.
turning miracles into angel dust.

As humans we find pleasure in terrible ways.
toturing the innocent with words
and blaming the ****** for ******.

As humans we think we create beauty.
even though we destroy the natural world
covering the earth in grays

As a human, I write this.
despise for my race raising with every word.
and yet I am still human.
Holding qualities I cannot stand.

The Morning Sun ©


               Stanza 1 :

The short hand of my big,round clock
Diligently whirred the hour of nine,
And the unfailing sun - faithful to her calling,
Rose again to shine.

               Stanza 2 :

Arghh ! The tendrils of her luminous rays
Sprayed discomfort - exceptionally piercing,
The moment of silence aided the voices of
Chirping birds perching the leeward side of
A neighbouring roof,
Adding somewhat a lustre, to the
Unwavering heat that fortunately found a
Path through the holes of my crisscross net.
Unbidden,I refused to adore her glistening
Grace,
Wallowing in selfpride,I declined my warm
Expression of gratitude for all of her
Kindness during the rainy days.
With overwhelming disdain, I let low the
Fringes of a yellow transparent curtain.

               Stanza 3 :

Nevertheless, undeterred as ever, she
Increased the dazzling filament of her
Toturing flame,
And all I ever did was gawk intermittently,
At the grandeur of her charismatic display
As she waxed and waned delightfully.
Causing tiny,glints to appear on the
Edges of swaying tassles that adorned the
See - through veils of my living room.
Arghh ! There she goes again - her
Untouchable forelocks made me scoff : they
Were as deadly as those oily,boiling,spittles
Dripping down from the cut - tops of
Long-lived vulcanoes,
Which no man ever dared tame.

                Stanza 4 :

The sweeping swish of daytime into
Noonshift, shapelessly radiated those lines
Of light through the scuds of sheepish grey,
As indifferent as ever : no soul, dead or
Living has ever been fortunate to wear her a
Royal crown - oh nay !
I marvel in awe as I unwillingly did watch,
My poor, sullen eyes could droop at some
Point,
Inwardly jealous of her daily, scorchy, touch.


Jahmenmuze.