Monday, February 8, 2010

centurions voice




centurions voice

...racked sterile cultures host as centurions voice... reviewing the troops overlooking the queen & the tower of london... black warriors running the gamut, a buffalo stampede of slaughtered instincts... musters confronting the cynic in me... politicos dealing the enemy away... there were no messages sent on the fate of the rebels...

...open magazines litter flickering fires... ravaged fields fume from diesel & lead... confederate generals mine industrial crime... blockaded supply lines starve out the blind... shrieks keen disembodied with wounds crawling rampant... pig iron quarried weal’s warlike rebel order...

...around ploughshares beat down, around harsh funeral wails, a third lung found breathing this storm wed to pain... time & a way around the flames dancing higher... stick matches yet no spark to burn down the blame... gasping belief while tearing down idols... leaving nothing living in the homes of fell hunters... but a dozen or so banners dividing faith into ages...

...the trance of robed shamen in mansions of flux... two voices intoning with breathless remembrance... using the right word in all the right situations... dangerous moments in this occasional love... cold blazing manhood but a share in the profits... blue feminine soul producing portraits & godheads...

...a stream consciously painted in a desert of want... honing old speech to remain treading water... swift water rushing washing the bridge out... tidewater flooding a barren rock’s cape jutting skyward in rain... towering vistas imprisoning steel, glass inside... spent residue thawing, sticky & seeping, strand by strand falling...