Menacing Flounce

From unguarded rusting rustic gates
The ultramarine and green nacre dragon expertly dances.
New to this befuddled intermediate
World below, uncharted in scripted lines,
Duly smug, brutishly nicked and tacked the charmed
Usurping them with a bellowing roar, screeching, when all could
Have played symbiotically had it deigned to switch gears at
Any nullified whim, but alas, for naught,
Do we speak of such things, for they had been thwarted.

Instabilities inside altered instruments,
Threatened to incite it’s insatiable thirst for boffery,
Matters that clearly needed to be tended to;
Lying, entwining it’s tail on vertical parallels, in wait
For those poor unfortunate shmucks,
Belittled and exacerbated, they charged, all the while
Yelling, “En garde! En garde! You fiery fiend!”


Advertisements

Last Drudge

Checked classes evolved after a disastrous
Turn of elements, namely the ones of novelties
Brought forth from the annihilated in
The post post apocalyptic world.

Where fully bladed visitors only loved
The idea of the experience
Disregarding what it stood for.

They tumbled to their knees
Humbled by their curiosities
Sparking spoken words.


Finch

Finicky finches peck at handsome quantities of
Exported chia seeds, flicking their heads in
Noticeable caricatured turns, from tracking
Movement to avoid fistfuls of porcupine quills.

Qualitative wandering rules of a thwarted alignment
Found on the side of brutish hippopotamuses, sliding,
Verifiably engrossed inside any moor you can picture.

Disassociated from their animal nomenclatures, they
Start to slink away from predatorial chases
Brushing past bumps from rough boulders.

Meaningless encounters, valued as such by
Xenopus, croaking, bothered by their reasoned writhing
Zealotries, count down to deadly xenotropic viruses.

Jabbing fish, quickly sinking in muddy bogs,
Learnt the utter futility with every bone breaking thrust,
In frightful knowing, in losing sight,
Within the dimming
Trickling twilight.


For Their Sake

Blind mice in armadillo armors
Tip up their little cameo army helmets,
With the tips of their rifle ended bayonets
Searching the never ending sky
Hoping to find the direction
That will guide
Them away from sour spiders
Lurking behind trap doors,
Specks in tainted aqueducts,
Diseases confined inside acropolis walls.

Hours away from their goal,
They doubt the possibility
They’d be able to find
The accessible comfort
Found within their burrows
Where love
Would welcome them home.


Then: Far

The receptionist takes my coat,
Then gives me a slip,
You know,
Those ticket stubs
That you hand over before you leave
These momentous lairs, after
She had written
Down my information, along
With the date and time.

She moves to the rear
Towards the rotating thing,
Her heels clacking.
Briefly, I steal a glance
She turns and stares and
For a moment, I freeze.

But I didn’t know that her face
Was going to show the
Most dazzling smile I’d ever see.
Suddenly, as if I’m under a spell, I canter
Towards this fair maiden, undulating,
For I had become hot and bothered.
She invites me over
By caressing my shoulder,
Motioning towards
Her dungeon chambers
Through a tear in
The fabric of time and space.

This dire occasion
Where I didn’t really
Do much else
But do that dance for her,
But for some reason
This was happening.

While Fear kept braying
That eventually
She’d ask for me to leave
When she finished
Sucking the life out of me.


While They Kept

Ignoble intentions inside a foil jet,
Flamboyantly, on a path, overflew
Thwarted retentions at the pathologic
Heart of spruced up gaseous airs.

As they’d try to radio to controls,
Secretly siphoned particles kept in
Warped containers engrossingly seeped through
Noticeable gaps, as an A.I
Tinkled and gasped “don’t” then tried to snub,
Badly, escaping gases with their thumb,
Barely rationing the hungrily complied data
Cyborg’s had drawn with intent of some sort.


Now He

Powerfully, a daemon chucks four out of five flaming shuriken
Towards cut out cardboard ducks of chalked up concentric rings
One, two, three, four– he
Dishes them out with the precision found within
The genus of trialed eclectic hours;
Harrowed efforts nullified by minds that don’t wish to see,
Flicking his wrists flagrantly
While gliding through the air effortlessly.

They, magically soluble, upon summoned powers
Melt into bucket shoals of water,
Soiling targetry, soppingly.

He, in possession of one last
Fiery water calling hidden dagger,
Yells in madcap epileptic obscurity,

“Bee-itcH! I now have your
Pathetic little life in my
Ridiculously good looking hands–
Do not fuck with me.”