I am in a saloon, where a blanket of glittering mist covers the floor, and where critics are shredded by Apache gunships at the door.
Hemingway sits at one end of the bar, drinking daiquiris, eyes focused on faraway places, big fish, and revolutions, big and small.
Bukowski sits at the other end of the bar, trading shots with his reflection, in a mirror, on the far, bullet-pocked wall.
Louis L'Amour hangs his hat, sits at a table in the back, sipping whisky, and dreams of cowgirl angels.
Andy Kaufman-- Andy Kaufman? What is he doing here?
Categories:
gunships, dream,
Form: Free verse
As the sun sets my mind runs with the thoughts that I'm stung with
Ever since Cinderella stung me I've been sprung since
Only wanted for the helicopter gunships
As my tongue slips Cherry Terror
In the woods my friends love to play
A-Team business on the menu press play
Talk about the Anchor, talk about the Navy , talk about the pain I still carry
Some fathers, some a couple hard heads
but they all good men or they wouldn't walk with me
Talk about the Navy, Talk about the Anchor
The weight you couldn't carry it
Talking 250 tons it would bury you
Categories:
gunships, hyperbole,
Form: Free verse
Battles rage about the soul
Waning Moon out there
Men have died we’ve never known
And therefore did not care
Absolutely you will say
This living must go on
Raging battles come what may
Are heaped on matters gone
Helicopter gunships
Whirring in my head
Twinkling stars peek high above
And on the ground the dead
Easy pictures we thus paint
The drama is surreal
But writing this I ask myself
Can any of us feel?
Battle weary in the field
The hero stands alone
Moonlight glistens on his shield
Beneath him dust and bone
Categories:
gunships, allegory
Form: Rhyme