they go before me,
my arms extended at my shoulder,
spread wide, herding thoughts
and the will to run,
break through the walls,
to freedom from thought,
deedless, empty, aloof.

the bloodlust, gazing
through the rebar and concrete
tasting, smelling sweat,
drinking up this bitter cup,
with stifled laughter,
growing, slipping up,
stripping the gears, wretching!

this is the end, the horses
are trampling the fresh grasses
and i'm rummaging through my pockets,
lint, this is it, just over the horizon
blood is boiling and the tumbling sounds
like a frieght train, bearing down on
the strings connecting you to all knowledge.

there is a knife, a slippery hand
brought to the observing sun,
a howl rising just above the din,
to descend with fists of clouds,
a storm, a child with no blood,
and the end, the end is nigh, cold.

05/15/2009

Author's Note: It almost happened. Really, truly.

Posted on 05/15/2009
Copyright © 2010 Jeremy Magee