Turning Pirate

Shells of cicadas
silent
no longer drum like
cryptic
cover
rotten
faded
wooden fence posts
avoiding predators
past  hipsters
harlots
heretics
Hitlers
sneezing their way into
autumn leaf piles
raked up by railway men
blue faded overalls
in their off hours from
rails sparking
so good they could make runs with their eyes closed
parallel parking
in leaking lines
pretty power hungry madmen
folding pocket squares
brilliant purple poking
black dots dangling
pinstripe suits to sell them down the river
i've always wanted a house boat to sink
in the Tennessee river bed
menacing to the meek mice
scraping by the bottom of a barrels edge
suck the whiskey from the wood

walking through wood chips
crunching
creaking of swirling swing sets needing oil
sway in the walking
cold winds blowing at dusk
through notes on a treble clef from
Paganini's caprice no.24 in A minor
mauls like a tigers teeth
grey electricity posts
perched on the hills rolling
leading up to the highway
cars and trucks zooming by
zombies with 18 wheels
slinging rubber shards
metal pins
as far as the lights let you see
running to the old city bars
salvage yard and back
modern marvels
waiting for fall
waiting to fall
pushing off with feet
covered in corn mill
the frozen ground grants liftoff
whisking
letting momentum take me on a tumble
in her arms

stare into the glowing lamp lights lantern
almost green
see ambient angelic circles
enshrine them in cases for the taking
maybe like you have
but nowhere nearly as beautiful

motorbikes parked for movies
exhaust pipes
still warm to the touch
waiting for daredevils to dance
burning stars to the ground
matchbox mayhem
striking
no outlet

feels like bugs crawling up the inside of my lip
through nasal cavities
out my eyelids
milky white coconut cream
sending chills down my spine
cottonmouth creeps in the night from this medicine
if only i could tell what was real any morning