Firelight.
-irishais-
the whores and the politicians
Blood dries cold, smeared into a semicolon. A picture falls into the pink dust of Mars. Somewhere, there is a joke that falls flat.
Somewhere, a woman, a man, two men, three men. The same man.
Cogs rain down on Manhattan.
will look up
He forgets she needs air, she fumbles in love and war and the end of days. He plays chess with ten million souls for pawns and Armageddon as his queen. Ninety seconds in the past, he tells Laurie that New York is dead.
He is tired of looking at this picture.
and shout
Pen scratching across paper in a cheap red leather bound journal. I will send this to the only people I can trust.
Midnight, November: the earth stands still and a woman is crying.
A test result--cancer scan negative, a package with an old costume, and a blue man strides across the red planet, playing god with glass, gases, space.
"save us"
Do it.
Streets filled with useless people, Americans gone and replaced with European, Chinese, Russian. The headlines read "WAR" and his journal is a rough copy of things to come.
Do it.
The Comedian understands, laughs with a scarred up face because he gets the joke. The only one who understands the irony in
fear, and yet is wide eyed scared at the king of kings who has come to kill him. This black painted smile pinned to a filthy worn
bathrobe is a joke, no?
Do it.
There's nothing stopping you.
Dog's head split open, ate a girl, tore her to pieces and swallowed her up. Dog brain on his pants; somewhere in the backyard, a child's bones.
"Do it!"
and i will whisper, "no."