Monthly Archives: September 2015

Crow Mask Barbeque

you have something hands want hard
a devil’s penny earned in emerald
your cold home made to save suburbs
working you to the bone in an ownership of chamomile life
& we have you make the saving roll
in a workshop of porcupine fever
oh you mariachi you
something the devil’s saved
is something you want
if a penny saved is a penny entitled for the matriarch
naked & covered in blood
from the nursery to the grave
if this is what you wanted
this is what you get

your sacred heritage insinuated by your bootstraps
with a sweet peppermint cancer
improved an equal chewing language virus
your drunken heritage insinuated by beer-soaked men
& a pilgrim’s progress
let the peregrine go
sod all your bootstraps
at the apex of infection crush
sacred are your sacred creations of you lot
you have earned an emerald cold home ownership in your chamomile life
naked & covered in blood
from the nursery to the grave
if this is what you wanted
this is what you get

The Department of Information

the department of information is a racing red train
clickity clack! clickity clack!
with swami communication of coffee table instructions
unclear grey a baboon hug

embrace that mystery kumquat whimsy
frustrations unclear in a grey area swim
of whiny thug snuggles
as the engine chugs & cuddles
with a kiss of programming & outreach systemwide
clickity clack! clickity clack!

those amazing black information pickles
to encircle area frustration
when whingeing a ninja in a groovy purple shirt
made of kangaroo threads
in spider your defense

& down down down
into the minotaur web
like a library of misinformation
the cuckoo’s swim of
the department of information goes
clickity clack! clickity clack!

Temple of a Thousand Ghosts

your skin is sparking & shaking
charged with a head full of storms
your sleep flooded with fever

don’t say it’s like other barriers
these thorns & thoughts
weighing on you like a lead angel’s wings

your gargoyle hunger burning burning burning
your fingers scratching at your skin
with nothing
nothing inside

keep it under your hat
that worm-ridden apple
sitting crisply in your head

your old black devil
frosted & crackling with lightning
& still it’s always the same

again & again & again & again
you walk through the wall
feeling no pain at all
save for the squeezing of your heart

your old black angel
marking not where you died but
where you courted death
an easy tumble off a high bridge

don’t say it’s like other barriers
don’t say it’s like other barriers
your heart of ice &
your skin of flame

your gargoyle hunger burning inside
but there’s nothing
nothing in there

nothing but an inelegant alchemy of words

Hymn Autumnal

here come it rains
here come it rains
& everything is going to be alright
here come it shadows
here come it lights
& everything is going to be alright

oh mine child, we’ve deposed a long hot mad summer
oh mine child, we fumbled through that loathed dead season
so desire dragged off forever

but here leaves are phantoms
& here leaves are nutmeg
& here leaves are china
& here leaves are smoke
& everything is coming to abide

let him tripping
tripping down the sun
like all leaves float down into flame
& him diamond dancing rain
let that lemon disk leave down underneath
a bedtime light & missiles of spice

oh mine brother, gravity’s beginning to fade
oh mine sister, it’s disposed to pulling our bones to dust
but here leaves a mushroom
& here goes a circle
& here wanders jelly
& now everything will abide

Notes on “The Game of Puppets and Devils”

I wrote this piece of flash fiction for Chuck Wendig’s regular Friday flash fic challenge. It was heavily inspired by a short short story by Robert Sheckley, “Zirn Left Unguarded, The Jenghik Palace In Flames, Jon Westerley Dead”, which I read in an anthology, The Space Opera Renaissance, some years ago. Although Sheckley’s story is meant more as a satire of space opera, I wanted to do something similar that earnestly captured the epic far-out-ness of my favorite space opera books, comics, movies, and TV series. If my piece is short on character depth and focused more on spectacle and flavor…that was purely intentional.