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…

Terraforming

Part I.

On days bearing the consistencies eminently so sound as they do this sector of time’s stage, the coat of the gray squirrel, bushy tail and all, blends unperceptively into the shaded horizon that is quite often found upon such fall forays.  In regards to resonation, a prism cannot encounter beams colorful enough to de-cloud these evocations from the being hidden deeply beneath my shell.  To me, during such instances, I find a keen relation, a kinship to, those men and women, who bear the countenances of the faceless victims, that comprise many of the characters within Foucault’s masterful tome.

 Part II.

In regards to the bellicose and vain, I fray the skirt that bears appellation to this couture’s claim.  Vagrancies of exposition, trifle through, traipsing cross the valance of charm in space, as encountered chancily, when spoken through those lost rhythms, in circumference, of a singular destiny spun, by the marsupial nightshade weeping saltine solvencies, over bended page, cross-haired and fileted, by the dampening fleece, crooked both in depth and scheme, whereas such tonalities bellow beneath the wherewithal spun fibrously, masking, completely the couplets coined, compellingly fleeing the soundscape rendered by a dissatisfactory spectacle hindered by slumbering parameters.  

Part III.

Within diameter’s foraging lines of spatiality, brays, both beckoned and intravenously embossed by superficial undertows, form in fragility, through the colloquial jaunts, too often spent in the prominence teemed through the professing vocalizations emitted, by those aligned through a spiritual subservience, uninhibitedly impelling canvasses their usual spread, flared out as deceptive turns were rife to stir.  It is not fairness that guides the devious, in search, always seeking, to barter their tomorrows, by exchanging hungers with the pauper’s guild. And therein lays the covenant created, where a hunger steeped in tangibility is traded for a hunger for the power.  The feast presented to these malnourished indigents, was rightfully deemed by he that sought ultimate power, for he that provides sustenance to the underfed, forever more, shall be deemed righteous in such people’s eyes.  This spectacular arraignment, in and of itself, promulgates the effectiveness of strategic posturing.

Part IV.

Herein, are but cacophonies, wastelands of effigies, asymmetric to the plotter’s quilts that coquettishly commingle adjacently, to the barren nook predicating the sprawl of vales. Over-extension, brings about the perceived timelessness of equation, a hallucinatory combination, an elixir bred to inspire, upon brindled spits, the stirring favor, that through it’s entrancing sensuality of scent are effectively useful ploys, time and time to come; easy are the hungered, blameless are such whose flesh falls in pronation’s guile, for to such martyrdom, is as has been, since the birthed touch of desperation. The conflagrations found carry greatness in their appeals, where, through timid reciprocity, our forbearers insinuated different meanings for journeys of identical design, and each within such foundries would behave, undoubtedly finding their beings swayed by one’s sense of justification deemed appropriately.  Distracted then become, the voracious sprawls of signatory resignation, the first formation of the grand design, that, now, herein, such minutiae, is revelatory in what truth is finally availed.  The separatists and their voiceless apparitions, ooze forth a morose temper.  Although they choose not to speak prominently before the court of decisive gains, they are evolutionarily superior to most creatures to grace this frosted earth.  Undercut by the arrogance of this burgeoned being, they make promises to nature herself, where their every forward movement, will be implemented for, aside from sustaining their own needs, the purpose counteracting all efforts motioning by these architects.   They are not a people who typically join in any side where revolution is the likelihood of outcomes, yet these so called creators, speak of promises and prosperities to come, are not speaking to their underlying plan.  The hungered and misrepresented only see routes to fulfillment and ask not the needed questions, they care not from where these beings originated, and as to why, out of all the lands, they chose our dwelling space for this promised cradle of theirs.  Underneath the political, is a devious deception here at play, and if not for these wood-folk, would be conducted without opposition.  What appears too fortunate, unfortunately is often quite it’s opposite.  What detriments seem relegated to subtlety alone, are often the monsters we choose not to face, yet imminently will be guided by.  They choose to ravage our mother, extract her nutrients for their own behalf.  Certainly they will blanket this world with their veils of prosperity, creating a time unlike any other experienced before, especially for these folk that become the spine of their infantry toward any who dare question the rationale provided to.  Any question of uprising, and stir of those that demand truthful understanding, are squelched before alterations could deter the plans they have set forth. 

Part V.

This is the monster, the beast unspoken, they that appear of no lands known, and bear tremendous gifts, with but a sparing repayment owed.  It is these that travel from system to system, terraforming habitats to their own necessities, sucking clean what makes this world our own.  The further along the balance blossoms toward, the gifts dwindle, and when their true appearances are finally shown, upending will then, be impossible to guard against. 

Shared with Open Link Night at D'Verse, where every Tuesday the pub opens up at 3pm and all poets are invited to link up any type of poem to share with the world.  And for those who might not be in the sharing mood, well, that is also perfectly acceptable, simply hop on in, pull up a chair and get your fill on some of the best poetry on the web.

Apocalypse Failed

honeycomb craters

unhindered by the

vacuous charm

footsteps—wagon-sized

circumference barren lots

molten display—

earth aflame

machismo died

in the face of wisdom

…and we cuddled close—

shivering silent, huddled still

above the dining wood,

plates filled, utensils primed

abdominals stifled

by sounds beyond

in what felt like lifetimes,

motion thawed locked bone

breakfast-long past cold,

devoured swift

deafness lingered minutes long

curiousity prompts opened eye

seeing a variety of ghosts

now walking the aftermath

nausea sickens the retraced path—

yet alive we stand; together still

Riot Act

And so it was…

…An incurable scourge…

         …Happed to make its stand…

…Upon our patch of soil…

              …In this once proud land…

Panic

Disorder

Chaotic Applause

Predilections Rise

In revolt of an unjust cause

Infamy

Atrocity

Tyrannical Pause

Insurrections beget

In defense of pawns

Protect

Fortify

Symbolic thaw

Volitions speak

Riot acts upon

Rigid

Static

Empirical scars

Elevations threaten

The way things were

Conflict

Discordance

Iniquity calls

Inflictions augment

The way things are

Collision

Fray

Cascades draw

Perditions whelm

In the support of man

…And so it was…

…Carnage crawled back into its depth…

…United was the common man…

…Deflecting treble …

 …Distracting spawn…

…With the will exhibited by all…

…Shielded from the shame of failure…

…Through which…

...A once desolate village…

…Became quite strong

The Programmer (Early Tales Chapter One)

Harboring fugitives from justice was not my aspiration growing up,

In fact, It most likely never crossed my mind,

Not a single thought, not the faintest gleam,

Why would I, they were wanted men and women?

Well, as things would have it, so was I,

It is true what they say,

Do something counter to your normal offerings,

And it is that much easier to complete the same task the second time,

And this formula continues on its course,

Well, you might say, how does someone break into such a line of work?

My answer would be simple, to the point.

You only get into a career of this sort, when three conditions are met:

                You have no other options

                The career chooses you

                You are the one needing safe harboring

I’ve met men and women that can safely fall in each of the conditions, some, as often is the case, fall into more than one.

My first “project” was the moving of a clan of techno-related fiends,

I tried at first not to ask questions that could later put me in peculiar situations,

However, through the many years, I’ve found it all important to obtaining such information up front, before any money changes hands, before I’ve agreed to assist the individual(s) on their flight,