Brett-Stout

“Umbrellas For The Blood Rain”

    The metallic neon blood

    singed

    safety pinned

    accessories and mementos

    of past enthusiastic wars.

    Black tie dinners

    and

    cheap garbage bags

    born solo

    on gargantuan

    waves of methadone and

    severely

    defaulted mortgages.

    A coagulation

    of

    euphoric embittered orgasms

    of hands to face

    and

    face to face,

    central station nervous

    system

    teasing derailment,

    the zinc white paint fought

    dried and died

    ten years strong

    but failed and crumbled

    like forgotten moping English castles

    and

    the stained lying ceilings,

    a 2020 modern Black Death.

    Above my head

    archaic bugs permeate

    my midnight nightmares.

    The freshly shaven

    dead skin cells

    naturally coalescing

    below my decaying feet.

    Dried lips

    kiss three forgotten lottery tickets

    and

    orange tinged seizing flames

    of perversion and vintage Saturday morning

    cartoons.

    Fill the empty glasses with seasonal ash,

    the whiskey bottle ages slowly as

    vertigo and decades slowly drip by.

    An unlisted number is stapled

    sanctimoniously

    into temporal lobe.

    Shoe strings and paper clips

    wrapped tightly around bulging

    femoral arteries and

    depressed subclavian veins.

    Empty blackboards

    instruct Caligula and modern L.A.

    replica superficial models

    kept inside a clinical drawer,

    the egomaniacal artistic curator

    of a future grieving

    apocalypse

    presently happening today.

    The metallic neon blood

    singed

    safety pinned

    accessories and mementos

    of future enthusiastic wars.

“Shudder Towards The Apocalypse”

Concrete

leads the way to a bleak landscape

greed and gluttony oh my capitalist beast.

Corporate isolation,

surrounding me,

covering me,

smothering me,

with their trademarked logos

of hate and oppression.

Atomic bombs

are released in euphoria

as the suburbs of utopia lay in rubble,

and once pale men turn to

charcoal colored dust.

The lab rats

are released from their captivity,

they sit on my couch and watch cable TV,

growing disillusioned and obese.

They truly are Americans now,

value sized and cheap.

“Jockeying A Horse Named Dead Last”

I now wear the remnants of past foreign wars

on the bottom of my shoe.

Flashing stars

fat man

little boy

sleek and round

the tiger’s eye

gnawing teeth

now camouflaged.

Now you can’t see me,

ghosts without flags

white laces ride

on wings of rusted metal

underneath

kamikaze soles.

I now wear the remnants of past foreign wars

on the bottom of my shoe.

Gasoline air fresheners

and modern art death masks

peering skulls

eleven total kills

officially documented

and

confirmed,

a left hand embrace

of imminent death

and

checkered flags

for a race never won.

Geometrical dives

head first

into a blood tinged sea

near the coast of Japan,

rusted metal

now on permanent vacation

around

2000 feet below.

I now wear the remnants of past foreign wars

on the bottom of my shoe.

“A Crooked Wretch Lost In Sky Valley”

Wake up the

uncultured masses as

vultures swarm in

pentagon shapes

and breed hate and loathing

above my head

in June 1979,

the embalmed and engraved.

Perverted and lurking

silent ghosts over

my shoulder

in a town called

DEAD END

forging deformed steel and

low paychecks plus

longer hours.

The random junk mail

turns into dust

and a summer of depression.

Diabetes and

low credit breed with

Christmas cards addressed

to no one,

and overpriced power bills

I rarely pay.

Juniper green

and watercolor stained hands

of righteousness and deceit,

my mind is blank

the chalkboard is black,

now stop toying with my cerebrum.

I am

the enemy

of

you,

but mostly

of

myself.

Sleep with the

uncultured masses as

vultures swarm in

pentagon shapes

and breed hate and loathing

above my head

in June 1979,

the embalmed and engraved.