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
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