Led to Believe

The bioluminescent bloomenary, a spectacular specimen just discovered in a subterranean cave beneath the land formerly known as Entrenchment Village—since abandoned for Encroachment Peak—is somewhat smooth to stand so tall in such a way, Agnes. We sure have come a long way since the aftermath of those Cleveland fires, and we couldn’t have done it without the chimney sweep frontier project—I believe that with all my heart (and a great majority of my soul, to boot). I sure hope we have the common sense and decency to look each other in the eyes before we swallow our pride, however much or little that may be.

A temper for granted on the northwest side of the pilgrim monitor is just a symptom of the intrinsic capacity for glue-footed rafter people, or so I’ve been led to believe.

Scribbles

Tiny little jubilants toss paint chips
into the rat-faced fire as their attempt
to reap the benefits of social currency.
Judging by their naiveté–they’ve only
just entered the space quite recently–
it would seem they’ve missed out on
the initial burst and are plunging into
an inescapable trough of national debt (god
bless them all, those stalling sensationalists
of the written turd). Once the uninformed masses
have been clued into a sensation, it’s only
a matter of time before the bliss splits
lengthwise and shatters the giblets
from within, a process even more frightening
than one would think at the onset.

Myself, I prefer to stick with what I do best:
painting Portuguese on piers that had once
bustled with trade activity, now disconnected
from commerce yet occupying the same space anyhow.
We wasteful invaders–of course we must leave
the bones of our prior successes to rot
in plain sight, unadorned (aside from my scribbles).

Well (II)

Do you whistle into wells?
Do you whistle well into wells?
Are you a well whistler
whistling well into wells?

Well, whistle well, my
well-whistling wunderkind.

Why? well, ask no more.
Wealth wills walls to wake
wavy Willis wisdom, now
more readily-available
to the masses
than ever before.

Whether the world
would be willing to wait
for a worthwhile patch
to the genuine system
is still yet to be seen.
WALDO! Get my wafer-thin
wallet, it’s time to wail!

Womp womp, simulation’s over.
Get your irons out of the fire,
boys! Time to reiterate,
we have no woolly mammoths.
I repeat, we have NO
WOOLLY MAMMOTHS.

Anything Too Green

Before nightfall, gather wood
for, at the very least,
a rip-roarin’ fire
that will last through daybreak.

No sense in freezing
if we still have blood
flowing through our veins.

Just don’t get anything too green,
or the smoke will howl
with the dying breaths
of those we burn tonight.

Clean Up Your Act

How many times now have I seen a mirror just sticking out of the side of the garage? I told you that the garage was not the place for a mirror to just go sticking out in broad daylight. There’s a sun out there, mister. That sun can reflect off this mirror and reflect a beam of fiery wrath back at that dead tree over there and toast that puppy. I will not have you just putting up mirrors all willy nilly, as though you’ve never been trained in the fine art of mirror hanging. I will not stand the disgrace to our craft, and I sure as hell will not pay for the damages caused by that fire to the property. Our insurance coverage isn’t half as good as I thought it would be when we signed up, so I’m pretty sure this family would end up in financial ruin. Your brazen attitude is just what we don’t need to see in this world, and I would like you to clean up your act.

Stream 4

A tapioca polar bear approached me Easter morn
and told me I had leverage within this golden arch.

I took the time to recognize that polar bears can’t talk,
but this one shrugged and passed me by, aware that I would trail.

So he and I approached a cave, uncommon in that place.
He bade me: “sit and light a fire, your thumbs are magical”.

I laughed and got some kindling out, but lit the tinder first.
He went into a hiding place and found his finest catch.

We ate like kings; I let him have the lion’s share of fish.
“My stomach’s smaller than my hands, and not as magical.”