Scorched Corona Read online

  Crumbling dirt from shaken earths

  Shatters dirty prisoners minds

  Sleek black horses roar,

  Roar to escape this fear.

  Cries of victory bellow

  A now ruined city, crushed so

  We- free of this violence

  Free of cruelties grief

  Aged men scamper into

  Saltwater filled holes,

  Alcohol burning the edge

  We cannot see the other side

  Men swim among freckled dead

  Prison rags soak skin red

  Scorched corona, cannot see

  The echoes that freedom lost.

  In Vain

  Onslaught seaweed covered planks

  With slime bucket in blistered hands,

  He sweeps until his master wakes

  To lash his sorrowful brand.

  Rawhide smacks his rosy ass

  Again to slash his skin

  Blood trickles to numbed grass,

  He blocks out a cruel world's sin.

  Triumphs are flattened wins

  Now disbelieving a true life,

  Why like-blooded are villains

  Of their own laws and human strife!

  Not today he doubts his reign

  In the schemes of life created,

  He just swallows pain in vain

  Because death could not have waited.

  Chu'a

  Life smoked its tobacco pipe

  Drank beside wooden track's dung

  Adieu to the alien strangers when

  it coughed their plague and bit its tongue.

  Chained to My Matadi:

  My Curse

  My feet don't hurt any more

  'Cause slices are sewn

  By evil's magicsword,

  His face pale, I don't ask

  Why is he cloaked in leaves

  With silver bullets poured?

  I lay in bed and listen

  From London says he is

  Which part I do not know

  Free us from our human chains?

  I cannot understand his pains.

  I am chained to my Matadi,

  My life that I breathe, lies

  Where family grows and dies,

  I cannot leave father's bones

  To green snakes who'll break

  My Mother Earth ties.

  Blood taker reveals his sword,

  A pair of rifles set to fire,

  And with shaking hands

  I aim to take him...

  Solitary American Eagle

  Secrets crept baleful moors,

  Discreet yet circling near,

  Channels drifted along

  Sodden banks of blood

  American Eagles shined

  From trickling reflections,

  Flocking to one destination,

  Thriving in others' shadows

  Seeking a beginning unfound,

  Singing sorrowful melodies,

  Solitary birds seek pure life

  And flee deep underground

  If successful in their journey

  Only one tribe will live on to tell,

  There were no American Eagles here

  Just human flesh we saw before us.

  Now driven from southern land,

  Difficulty laid steeply ahead,

  Challenges started unbuckling,

  Leashes broke from swollen necks

  All worn, all chaotic, all beautiful,

  All tired, all graceful, all free,

  Past had died and future birthed,

  Th Civil War was over.

  Court of Corruption

  Sleeve encrusted red; locket

  Silver, of late dead, dangling

  By his late reach, twisting

  From bloodless pauper palms,

  Lips gagged, blinded eyes, shut

  To midnight's slaying cries,

  Heartless dagger arching over

  His wretched murdered corpse,

  Black queen veiled in sin

  Vying her vile grin, staggering

  Thirteen coiled steps

  Into cold earth's hollow pit,

  Dirt lumping, now a mound,

  Jeweled in rubies round,

  Spade smoothing 'bout the crown

  Of her vengeful royal flush.

  Ironclad Rustics

  Trapped like ashes in an urn

  A ruined kingdom lay; breathless

  Ironclads forted golden ramparts

  Circling the almighty Lord,

  Jousting at heinous dragon flames

  Balls of the inferno swung into air

  Making crisp unseen boys and girls,

  Shielded by hiding metal men

  As royalty laid sodden behind drapes,

  The Lord shivered warmly in sweat

  Beading down his slivered throat,

  Fatal wounds engraved broken walls

  Piles of putrid corpses, hosts and foes;

  Swords lowered, time forgotten,

  The Lord trapped in his golden urn.

  Il banchetto di Bacchus

  Shades of plum and ruby wine

  Drenched in milky sliced skin

  Sprawl betwixt the silver ladles

  Dipped into tender chagrin

  Tempered temptress seduces

  With sugar-laced pink veils

  Enticing breath whispers softly

  Into balmy drunken devils

  Mortals unsheathe golden blades

  Sinners wound in deepened red

  Sweet nectar steals life away

  Betwixt plum and ruby dead.

  Under the Rye Sycamore Tree

  The woman did not laugh anymore

  Under the rye sycamore tree

  Her teeth sharpened inside her gums

  Muteness became her only friend.

  Locks, twisted and tightened, fell gently

  Along her narrowed cheeks

  But did not nearly hide her face

  Changed by misery's quaint company

  She hunches over into a lotus position

  Thick mud cementing her painful howls

  What happened to the prancing leaves

  That used to tickle beneath her delicate, human feet?

  They became brittle and dark, blood orange,

  Burgundy and ruby stains of hunger,

  Gnarled roots jabbed

  Beneath her curled frailty

  A painless sensation numbed

  By the humming wind, she changed.

  As she sucked in puffs of chilled air,

  Her lungs pressed hard against growing ribs.

  Heckling coughs, gnawing sensations, followed

  By undead silence,

  Giving her new melodies,

  To a undying wind.

  And as the leaves started to fall

  Greens and browns in imperfect curves

  Spiraled downward onto the lumped soil

  She awoke

  Bedlam of the Moguls:

  Kingdom of the Dead

  His fingers cracked.

  Bending toward his body,

  Curling into a reddened edges

  And plumping along the joints.

  Glass dug into his tender skin,

  Slicing paper-thin cuts

  Into his already swollen flesh.

  Yellow Submarine jingled

  In crackled echoes from outside

  Dancing from the two speakers

  Wired against graffiti cement walls.

  Thumping. pulsating blood flowing

  Out his wound throbbed charmingly

  Against the Beatles' melody.

  As the rocking floor beneath him

  Began to pull away,

  He locked his right elbow

  A rusted, silver locket clung

  Dangling from his aching neck.

  He touched it, regained his focus o

  Of the swirling world around him

 
; Blocked by three inch plastic.

  His six foot trench coat dragged

  Into the puddle of wet blood

  Swarming beside his feet, shifting

  His weight to the left,

  he found himself pressed against the scratched glass,

  Stretching his left arm and unstitching his ligaments.

  The pain from his fingers were gone.

  Strumming from an untuned guitar

  Drumming into the subway train.

  Glass doors disappeared into the sides,

  Releasing his coal-dusted eyes

  He faded beneath the shadows of the moguls.

  Men, suited with Armani and briefed with Klein,

  Stomped his leather-coated soles

  Amongst the business breeders.

  His shackled eyes,

  Rimmed in black monocles,

  Stared deaf at red pixels swarming left to right

  From the hovering technological sign.

  27: Belvedere 28: Anneslie 29: Towson

  His beady brows darted toward the metro cars

  Chained in oil clogged metal.

  As the tin of soulless providers dragged

  Itself forward

  Once again,

  A hoard of preying vultures,

  Feathered in buttoned couture,

  Flocked toward the gates of bedlam.

  Pompous entrepreneurs trampled frail

  Vices as suitcases hammered against the blood-lined railing.

  Crawling from the tin can

  And into the hungry pack,

  The man found his trench coat torn along the edges.

  Fur lining the bottom.

  Gently, he removed the tattered rag,

  Letting the silk clothe tickle his new flesh as it fell

  The pounding mogul feet strengthened his nerves

  And underneath their weight

  A twisted clock, letters green,

  Glimmered between the blocks and naked ceiling.

  Seven thirty eight.

  He waited

  Pounding feet of vile beings

  Pounded, waiting

  Hunger baited

  Pounded.

  Catacomb

  An autumn funeral

  Sang somberly its melody while

  A pyre stained the sky

  Blackening the air with coldness

  A child, hidden amongst the mourners,

  Splintered himself against the fire wood

  As he stared, fascinated at the blaze

  Blanketing the air with luscious ash,

  He reached his penny frail arms

  Toward a red spark flickering away

  But it disappeared into the darkness

  And tears flushed the child's face,

  "There, there," cried a woman,

  "It's good to let it out."

  The child stopped and stared blankly

  Then looked again for the spark.

  Hundreds of red fireflies sparkled

  And the child stretched for them all,

  His arms flailed about,

  Swaying toward the smoldering body

  "Oh dear, she's can't wave back,"

  cried the mourning woman,

  "But if you call for her,

  I'm sure she can hear you.”

  The child stared blankly,

  His eyes, two glossy pearls,

  Gaping at the wooden coffin,

  Innocent of what death meant,

  That the creatures took her in the night,

  As the mourners wept and moaned

  He waved again at the fiery sparks,

  And the woman cried to another,

  "He's saying goodbye to his mother."

  Practice of Euboea's Lords

  It is a time again of shielded respect,

  Intolerance of being tolerant

  And blockading windows of the mind

  With iron barriers of mistrust.

  However many men it took to forge

  The beginning of this blinding war

  Is a fraction of those that now

  Try to end it with kind words.

  Despite political attacks upon preying campaigns

  Murmuring the slogans of serenity,

  Renegade citizens stab their words

  A joust to the war's gut,

  Spilling evermore hatred across the field.

  While women lie on crusted streets

  Shouting their verses of profanity

  At the foreign marching arms

  Men bow their heads back

  And tilt their chins as if giving a sign.

  Each good soldier, branded

  With the symbol of saintly loyalty and justice,

  Kick their legs before them and pound

  Their pigskin boots in sequential thuds.

  Leading the pack, all-mighty alpha wolf,

  Silver peace tags outnumbering beta brothers,

  And a cluster of scout badges lining his sleeves

  Commanding his troops by a whistle of his voice.

  Commander to those who follow

  And foe to the brother banshees

  Edging the high road in grief

  But neither life, adequate,

  To the man behind the silver bullet.

  Arches etched beneath two coals,

  A line of black stitches sewn

  Down the center of the streets, shaven

  By swollen eyes, marks of the new human race.

  No badges won by wrinkled trees

  Not by fancy whistling guns, branded

  By government pigeon coups,

  Not for a few lucky pennies

  They waver in front of the pack

  Turn the corner of women battered

  And boys beamed from smiles shone

  Sweaty palms hover over the phones

  Engulfing piranha protestors, now block

  Off the tail

  Pressing bodies against one another

  Barricades, air heavy, mold reeks out

  Of the crowd's unkempt mouths, teeth rotten

  From words unkind nor sound,

  A signal flare bursts out flames

  A half-moon line of glaring hearts

  Stretching over the lands,

  Into the seas, foreign grounds unleashed.

  And the kings and queens embrace

  The practice of Euboea's Lords,

  Throwing down their spears once again

  Like neighbors, mimicking some ancient war,

  Wolves gathers 'round the hill

  Awaiting the clouds lined red

  Affection for their kin

  Driving them to the end.

  Penalty of the Human Life

  Don't run off from me now.

  I ain't gonna lie,

  I'll hunt you down

  Before you take one more step-

  Oh no, don't you smirk back at me,

  You're just tempting new waters.

  He tightened his shackles

  Wrists plumped, resurfacing dead scars

  He sighed.

  Where oh where am I supposed to run to?

  You got my life now, you killed him,

  You got everything, now, except my heart.

  Why would you say that?

  You got that pretty face for a poor trade

  That now you gonna have to live with-

  A dead shame, but you'll serve your time.

  You ain't gonna need that heart now.

  You ain't gonna need anything

  But mercy.

  I don't want this.. but you

  can't control me- that's the irony of it.

  That's why you're gonna run away scared now,

  Get away from your mind-

  Forget that you found me.

  Forget you?

  Step into the light!

  We knew they were reunited at last.

  You think you're
free, but you can't do nothing, nothing,

  Without paying first, can you?

  All for the demon's call.

  I'm free, locked away inside this skin

  And I am still your son.

  One more blasphemous word

  And I will-

  I will find my heart. You hear me?

  I don't listen to you no more

  You need to step into my light

  Bloody Land: Creatures

  Beware casket-covered lands

  Where man's hand has been today,

  It reeks of hatred kept unclean,

  Of putrid flesh decay.

  It is a time of mourning birds

  Watching demise with bloodshot eyes

  Who flock Heaven's gates in torture

  And bawl to their family's cries.

  Ironclad nobles torment your home

  Severing minds from others,

  Chain your soul from life,

  Slaughter your sister and brothers,

  Time will come again when Death

  Comes banging at your door in red,

  He'll promise you golden caskets

  And in return, you'll be undead,

  Do not conquer immortal men

  Destroying their shackles of sin,

  These demons cannot die by Death

  As you succumb within...

  Now I implore you to listen

  Disappear from this bloody land

  Before they rot your soul and heart

  And sell you to the Devil's hand.

  Pretty Ballerina

  Her gnarled feet twist slightly

  Clutching the wooden floor

  As her thick, chiseled toenails

  Bleed from her swelling sore

  Two perfectly pink slippers mask

  A coiled beauty rarely seen

  That only she, a dancing queen,

  Could sweetly hide away

  Her blind audience cheer, clap,

  Whisper to her grace and form,

  Worship her goddess splendor

  And dare to ask for more

  She smiles her pale grin,

  Softly bows,

  Awaits the curtains

  Falling down,

  As darkness shadows,

  She lies still,

  And weeps her shattered dancing crown.

  Feel the Strange Heart Beating

  Oh, the horror! The horror!

  Ringing through the rusty cell

  A mate dark with little lies

  Stroking palm 'gainst the mortar

  Sweet remembrance of blood & locks

  Curls and blonde twisted red

  The glitter of her little jewels, plastic pearls

  Cascading memories onto the wooden floor

  One by one rolling away