Table 192

Growing walls
Shouting out
Dead skin in dust about
Quay of circles
In the time
Vending paper
Mending minds

Jacks so hungry
He’s up on the wall
Musk and vanilla
Full the hall

Central table
Jump lines
You do
The seen
The many
Shapes of limes
Mad as ice crushed crimes

Simple people
With complex stories
Jack takes up
A moment of your time

Train goes past
Ever so fast
In the cartridge of the past
Inn to stay at
St James as well
the arrows, the rack smell

Trees and bushes
On the wall
In Jacks we trust
For Jack alls we get

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Electric Gods

We see put the legacy
Places hanged from a ancient tree
Power driver sounds black lights
Fright, flight, fight
Ought to see the electric gods
Standing on the dualistic mother lands
Clouds raised
A old god appears
Throws his Hammer
Beard in the wind, his time has come again
He drinks the blood of the electric gods, dead as clips
It’s a mighty day

Future tense

Dizzy confused fog
Covers all the road
Sticky on your back
Feel like a toad

Hopping on hope puddles
Made of false dreams
Electric nightmares
Filled with red cream

Sloshing in simmering hate
Fear coming to join in
In the end you will be late
Disguised masked bait

Contrail of future tense
A fog you can somehow follow
But still blind
In this everlasting shadow

Orange Hag

A unpleasant air makes the climb all the harder
For age has made these bones as old as the land under her feet
And no one will help her
Not that anyone is hear to
A lone pine sits watching her smugly from its permeant residence
Waiting to snark at her slow approach
Not one but many more steps before the summit is reached

The hag begins to wonder
Why do this every time?
For love?
For hate?
Because otherwise all like her will no longer be?
Maybe it would feel better if it wasn’t for that smug tree

When the sun finally rises she stops to rest
Her luncheon of nuts and dry meats
Consumed in teeth that hang on
Chomping as loud as she can
No one cares what noise happens up here

Up again and bones creek
It’s not far now
Past that pine
There is a pool
Full of summers last wine

She looks at her reflection
It’s older that she thought
She takes out a spoon and drinks
Sip by sip the memories of the summer past are drunk
At the end she feels a bit sunk
By all the memory in her full belly

Then it’s time.

A flash and she’s back to being all dark and mysterious, still aged but black and not orange
The Winter Hag looks at the empty pool and says
“Pine. You always keep the memory so strong. I wish I could keep such strong memory. ”
And as she walks a into a nearby hut, you could swear the pine was now somehow even more smug than before.