Taken to the Stump

 
 
 
 
Pale moonlit flame
chicken on the wind
lights in the distance
now behind
 
flushed from the bush
to shushing heights
into the eye of the storm
through a stomach for details...
 
he crept from a solemn
white midnight
tune of phrases
seldom used:
 
"Itch the soul.
Scratch the brain."
 
a life of lines
cut to the dumb numb
dull in luxury
of beginning...
 
necessity, now,
for ending:
 
It was
 
the rope-a-dope of croaking & the booze
skunk-fed rats from the silvered pigs of fools
a blackjack maw of claw-handled killings
that sodium grist sizzling of deep-fried bones...
 
a glimmer of strike from the blue & the night
the brain & the powdered powerslave bite,
the rows of nervous peeking to breaking freedom
that shifty-eyed strangling of a nerve-rattled rooster
 
in pale sweat of shame
chicken under lights,
stump underneath
to a final wish....