January, 25, 2013
Difficult to write lately. Depressed. But depression I have always thought was a creative spot to be in. Not this time, though. I just want to lay on the couch and watch TV. But I gotta post something. A little psychological horror thingy here.
Dream
Monster
My fantasy runs locomotive. Burning steam
My fantasy runs locomotive. Burning steam
rushing
up from the bloody cradle to the rocking
chair where
sleep is only interrupted by a nightmare
and a simple
snort which may if too exuberant
awake
the monster dreaming there.
And what’a monster he was, yes, indeed! And though
And what’a monster he was, yes, indeed! And though
a
withered demon now, he once devoured everything
with large
jaws and broken fangs. His toxic venom
(bright
blue it was) poisoned every living thing:
The brown
tanned farmer of the field, the bloated
banker
in his vault, the few rebellious poets who
defied
both Earth and wealth, it churned the lot to
butter,
to nothing more than gushy gobs of dragon spit.
But in this the 21st century, would the creature of my
But in this the 21st century, would the creature of my
deadly dreams
with its arthritic claws rip the world
apart
as it did so long ago? Would it stand a chance
in hell
against the righteous wielding Bible swords
or the
murderous peppering its leather flesh would
receive
from Facebook trolls and video games?
Would its roar be a roar at all or just a nagging cough
Would its roar be a roar at all or just a nagging cough
a
smoker’s hack which the cyber world scoffs at, or
pays no
attention to at all? That beastie of our darkest
nights,
that wicked thing which drove us to our covers,
could
it frighten anyone?
No. Some would say, the creatures of our youth
No. Some would say, the creatures of our youth
can’t
match the ones that live and breathe… today.
rrw o1-25-13
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