Day18-ish: Shootout at the Two A.M. Corral

Poem:

Shootout at the Two A.M. Corral

The sheep, long since counted,

lie dead in the pasture,

and someone must pay.

The usual suspects yell and strut;

the banker shouts down the office worker,

while the movie star shrieks at the doctor.

They kick up dirt and sod,

stomp and bellow around woolly carcasses,

till someone pulls a pistol

and the others jolt to action.

Shots echo from mind-corners

with grey puffs from black barrels;

synapses fire from all corners,

behind stuffed and brimming trash cans,

from tranquil beaches to corner offices,

an extended brainscape

behind wide-open eyes.

Chaos pushes hair out, stray shocks

on a head that pulls apart

while the clock ticks toward

another dust-cloud morning.

Commentary:

This poem peers inside a brain that refuses to sleep, something I and many about whom I care know all too well.  I start with the proverbial sheep but have them come in already killed off, letting the sheep play the role of Archduke Ferdinand for this particular war.

I let the characters and everything in the landscape reflect various concerns and desires that might flood a mind on any given night, an effort to give an allegorical feel to the action taking place while reflecting the chaotic feel in the mind of a person who just wants to shut it all off.