Monday, April 20, 2015

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


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.


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.

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