Speed~

Blood in the mist

a spectacular flare of life

stuck between broken ribs

on a crushing exhale

cars flash by

spreading bone trails

pulling a red pulse

 between grass and asphalt

but

they never quite kill the doe;

Pan’s hoof comes down hard on the break between my nimble feet

unhinging my spine much like a flare

beneath my reptilian hindbrain

unwrapping civil me like candy

 

I am an animal

with wild grace in my hands

with life in the stains of my palms

I always kneel

my leg bones made of coagulates

my eyes rimmed in vertical light;

mercy is a sorry excuse

for the burial of my lightning fingers

inside a beating heart

silencing the agony

with ecstasy shooting surreal morphine

deep into my wrists

as Pan hooks his wires into my vertebrae

binding me

yet again

to a dirty twilight

 

Pan calls shotgun

hooves through the window

claws a tippy tap tap

on the side wind

of another shattering day

of a doe

a deer

“No more feeding in the Pines, damnit Pan!”

one black marble eye

depthless as a singularity

orbits my black diamond and granite  heart

wink, wink,

he asks

“My lovely, hunters are fair game?”;

 

Personal Pan, how I love you so

 

My hands in blood prints

camouflage nere’ do well

under the speed of my tilted hands

crossbows strung in trees like damaged fruit

arrows bent through the grass

bullets unspent

under the crush of Pan’s hooves dancing

his lute untamed

the music collapsing inward

on a thousand and one dead men

 

“Eat them! Eat them all up!!”

the monster ball

in a clearing of fig trees snapped through a filament of decaying atomics

unprincipled

my child delight

Pan’s mad delight

let us dance in a pond of blood

before we take to the open roads

on speed bent sideways

flying through a vortex of transparent lives

on transparent crossroads

screaming so softly

no one

but the monsters

hear

and answer . . . .

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

from UnFairy Tales from UnderLand

in bookstores Dec. 2011

Reviews

[OT]

the immortal writer strikes again - personal pan in tow with a bag full of kicks and surreal bullets - they never do quite kill the doe - rather leave it injured or slowly sinking into the blood pond with monster fish - tis the nature of it all it seems - "I am an animal with wild grace in my hands" - bravo!

[.]

what wonders abound in you imagination..love the intwining of pan into your mythical follies..another magical piece.