The Invasion

Love lost lacking.  Brutal contributions from the master of the filthy undercurrent—swords, bombs, bayonets, flexing madmen and bloodcurdling sounds of dysfunctional regret—

WTF—Belly-side under, still sore from the stumble up the porch—rippled are the emanations my blood made as it sashayed across the puddles in the front hall, knew I should’ve used the insurance money to pay for repairs, but you know, sometimes, just need what you need…WTF, (take a peek out the window)

Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left,

Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right,

Bright lights, not the inner city I’m used to…not anything like anything at all—well, it’s like something, just don’t know what that is, and really, haven’t seen this much commotion since the riots back in ’98, and that was all about some bad call in a game, but Marching feet moving in rhythm and cadence, seriously what the hell, who’s birthday is it anyway, (what is the occasion?)

Sounds above, sirens rise and fall, the streets all cluttered, (better stay indoors), so much metal, so much steel, (be damned if I’m going out there, I’m the kind of guy someone does something to, just to prove a point, nope, staying put)

Loudspeaker off and on, don’t recognize the voice, can’t make out the words, (better keep the drapes shut and the lights on dim. No! Make that OFF)

Cat knows about as much as I do.  It doesn’t seem as scared as I feel though…(have to keep composure, have to keep things together), phones all dead, television works but nothing seems to make any sense, invasion, unknown assailants, unknown, unknown, unknown, static…. television about as good off as it is on, perhaps under the present circumstances, better even (guess I’ll just wait this out, let the heroes do their thing, and I’ll live up to expectations just fine in here) 

Time, time, turning without a witness to bear…yet ceaselessly parading forth…

(Good thing this house is a piece of crap, they’ll probably think it’s condemned, hopefully that’s the case anyhow, as I really don’t feel like doing anything I’m not used to, this isn’t what I’m built for, this isn’t my mission anyhow, so I’ll just try to sleep this off, but doubt the sandman will come on this particular night?)

I know it’s not going to go away.  I’ve seen a lot of bullshit in my small sample set, but, this isn’t like anything I can think of, no comparisons at all, nothing even close, and anything that doesn’t end up with me dead is a good outcome, right? 

Luckily I have a lot of cereal and plenty of powdered milk, that should last a week or two and that much foresight, in itself, is beyond anything I’m used to)

Arbitrarily regimented and statistically irrelevant…in a case like this, is all anyone can honestly hope for…

P.S.  If the draft is sending chills throughout the floor, then, by all means…

Shut the God damned door…

He Wore A Heart of Orange Upon His Sleeve

She wore the yellow in her lace

Indoctrinated by the ever changing faces

That imbued her mother, as she grew-

Lacking all pigmentation, if not Blue

He wore the dust of heralds

Adhering its pink upon his heart,

Of which, since that fated dawn, he could only sing of her in carols

A soundtrack to love’s play, and Sisyphus became his part

She danced the reddest predilection

Enraptured by his persistent, amorous intent

Yet engrained are the evils, alive in her tapestries’ reflection

She damns affection, for the avarice of hesitance

Many stanza’s later…the spectrum’s cycle still would spin

She blankets herself in the blackest blur

Aged now, she has grown, but his pursuits have since died

And the clocks had sealed their lips, once apathy’s languor flecked eye,

If only she’d known, if not for decline, he’d still move boulders for her 

Well another Tuesday is upon us, and with it comes another week of wonderful and brilliant poetry over at D'verse.  This week we're all in for a treat, as one of my favorite poets, Tash, will be hosting Open Link Night.  Anyone who enjoys reading some great original poetry should be sure to check it out, and while you're there, perhaps you'll feel the urge to share a poem of your own.  Happy OLN!