When I die, will you wail and cry?
Or grin and do the dance of the Beagle?
Will you touch my skin to feel cold setting in,
As my blood is congealing.
Will you raise my lids to view pupils wide
verifying my organs stopped working?
Now on the phone, will you pretend to sad moan,
While holding in a giggle and wriggle?
As I float to my deserving place,
My spirit cannot inform you, my Beloved’s face.
You will follow me as if we’re tethered.
By infection I was claimed, no visuals to say,
that you shouldn’t have touched me at all.
Medical Center. Sadness.
Placed in room. Sadness.
Chemical given. Sadness.
Radiation used. Sadness.
Stomach queasy. Sadness.
Image in mirror. Sadness
Hair gone. Sadness.
Future unknown. Sadness.
Centennial Birthday. JOY!
Best for last
Better Accommodations for a God
Oh Stately spire from distance seen.
Your young visage, causes you to preen .
Your Circular face, shows no time.
Boisterous Bells, comfort minds Divine.
Though haughty and Sanctimonious you are.
You owe your fame to a kin not far.
Upon a plain that shares the name
You were given in another King’s Reign
Not still grand like you.
Henges strewn from nature’s rage
Resided their God of another age.
Blocks of stone, that simple people Raised.
Not long before, they shared a Cave.
Both sites no more sanctified.
People built them at a sacrifice
Money and Sweat and their Lives.
It’s Dead! Buried! Murdered! By
Societal Evolution. Technology has
Guillotined it, chopped to,
Shards of quick transference.
Paperless, Ephemeral, Unbounded By
Chemical mixtures, giving whole
Recognition, permanence. Now
It is whisked away, as Dandelion fluff
In the wind of electrons.
Meaning given by consent of,
Ignorant users, only capable of,
Mangling, what they could not
comprehend in full form.
Butchers trying to extract more
Time for Air Head endeavors of
Tactile and Visual and Auditory,
Sensations of Erotic Exercises,
That soon callous the senses.
Sun Furnace desiccating.
Man and Beast moving,
In crazed circles of Corral Mirages
Moisture-less Sky and Land.
Buzzards, certain of,
Meat Jerky repasts.
Timing air currents,
Until the Western Buffet
Is finally stocked.
By Kieran Pavlick
26 October 2012
Stitch me back together,
whether it hurts me or not.
I still don’t know if I was
Blown up or shot.
The brain plays tricks,
maybe a bullet or
shrapnel from bricks.
I ain’t afraid of dyin’
I’m in a macho clique.
We expect the worst to happen.
Part of that is Rappin’ and
Some of it is Shtick.
You doin’ it with super glue?
How modern of you.
From assembling model airplanes,
To jigsaw puzzles, Dude
Technology took away stitches, so
I won’t look Frankenstein crude
Throw open the Windows
Get out the Leaf Blower
What falls on the Lawn
We’ll just Mow over
Get out the Shotguns
To clear out the spiders
Be careful about Grandma
In the cellar making Cider
We have new neighbors
What’d you say,Hoke?
Our cleaning may scare’ em ?
Screw Em’ if they can’t take a joke
Light the Fireplace
And see if it smokes.
A Black Dress simple
Gains entry to ample
Fun places of Rich
and People Beautiful.
A glance lustful
will soon deceive.
Keep the intake
of Brain Fog