. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Untitled Offshore Fight

Krunch and I wait in a constant state of subdued arousal,
the sun rises orange above an average horizon,
it burns the day and the wind is not enough to cool,
day burns down along the candle wick,
evening comes and the sun drowns in a red ocean,
Krunch and I remain,
He curses and stings me with his ventilation,
I listen and grunt, smile and kick back,
clouds gather and usher in an offshore storm,
we meet on the helicopter landing pad as
     rain melts our joy,
He swings a heavy fist at my temple and I beat him dead,
dead until he dies and I'm lying in his blood,
coughing in his diseased lungs,
the remarkable heart stopped,
Mandy alone for the rest of her smoker's life,
dust went down,
nothing gold can stay.


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