Sometimes at midnight
a carnival comes to town
inside his brain: masked marauders
plummeting, outlying isles:
my fractured brainpan, slow take
of a broken world; temperamental,
and unbidden visitants circumnavigating
these old bones, clashing and thrashing
under the testy tempest-sagging flesh
of this old bloody fool, slaked and dissatisfied.
Oh, surging and bubbly confetti of the brain,
intoxicants of madness and mayhem,
delightful gnomes and demons slurry forth
up and down the halls of his insipid brain;
his shoddy history flares to light, deep-kneed
in spears of pain, penetration of his darkened mind;
the old gods of blood and liver wrecked, he sinks
like a lead balloon onto the burning decks, asleep.
He sought the remedies to love and death,
prophecies of doom and exorcisms in a tub of dust;
but all he ever found was sludge and rust,
a fatal crew of misfits unfit to judge or bust;
begetting murderous intent and doubt,
their nightly labors swinging spouts of liquor,
across the bows of frozen cheers and sleepers;
forgetting all he ever did on earth, he lost her.
He consulted the divinations of his foolish heart,
the calibrated risks of his unreasoning intellect;
and found only errant soldiers of folly’s court,
intrepid members of that nonchalance: his red-eyes spent,
he found the tempest begging surliness of an unbidden guest.
He woke up this morning in a zoo, facing a calamitous foe
– a bottle of gin and a angry crow — a croaking host
squawking dark anthems, triggering imbecilic voices
in his head: full of curses, unseemly jests; till he was dead.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.