Punchdrunk

Before you register for the oblivion, stat

dear friend, apocalypse child

Strewn in headlights, your hooves

clicking and steady

into the night. Hearts hold us

we will live on.

 

Ripped out on lines and waves

Broadcasting, heavy

The last bough breaks and our shield is gone

The antenna cracks in three parts.

No one was going to be here

on purpose

or make believe

but there we walked, bone beneath their snout. Chewing singularly.

Spitting up upchucks of what Nike needs us to consume like, swoosh

tax included.

 

But then we fought.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: