Flametip Riders

flametip riders last call brass doll suitcase in hand howling at empty rafts fire consumed deck tickling rain flaked boot lace frozen slices of polar existence hanging from great western ship gallows spinning blind eyes in the technicolor night dream invisible fury shamanic invocations floating in a dark lonely bottle seven charkras forty oms military mantras blazing drones starboard we toss the captains hind quarters aging skeleton maps drawn by green phantom winds lobbing lucifer’s cold shoulder as we blind dive for answers through frosted airs to the warbling wobble beat wharf tattoed tugboat arms toss frayed white flowers and free passes to afterlife’s comfort lounge