The Universe of Fetid Breath

The fetid breath of a broken man
Created a massive universe
Radical Carnage
Epic Disaster
Shock to the Hillside

Fuzzy brains just want coffee
But it’s too late for that
And too early for
“Two-Toes Swamp Dweller”

It’s also true that language
Doesn’t usually address glaciers
Or pockets of warmth in the
Aquatic Kingdom
Just give it a shot next time
When the earth has reset
And governments decide
For the same structure then as now
In a unifying miracle

Maybe the glaciers will give you curt nods
A sign of respect
They will hold the line
As they are pitted against nukes
Let loose by a very successful man


The Sentinel

Checking the lights
The stove, the oven mitt for rodents
Doors locked
Cover windows
The third and final time

Sleep was calling
But ears had other things on their minds
They were citizens
Chips above the shoulders
Of a mediocre man
But he was more dedicated than the rest
At least he thought so

Checking everything one last time
The rodents for oven mitt
Windows locked…doors cover…
He was getting sleepy
Those heavy lids were disobedient
Still, duty called
He had to keep going


Cosmic Record Keeping

Just wait
The immersion will come
Swiftly and extending its arms
To enfold the grass and the delta
In loving arms

But luggage will fall from the sky
Ruining any sense of cosmic justice
Uniforms will spread across the lush land
Looking for trinkets
Or bent reading glasses
Loving the rules that structured this hunt

And so they will put on latex gloves
Bend in the proper manner
Regulations A-F didn’t mention anything about
A bottle of snake vertebrae ensconced by a tree trunk
Time capsules will follow their own rules
Manipulating the universe so that discovery respects
Proper timelines and the order of succession


One more time

A few hundred more sessions left
This record was practically immortal
It would outlast this thin strip
A private world on its last legs

Even the lightbulbs would die
Before the music
The clumps of dust would have a falling out
Rats would scurry to a fresh alcove of the world
Bacteria would flee to a new host
All harbingers to something better than them
Something infinitely more tragic

In a way it was inspiring to think
That a non-sentient record
Would outlive a billion neurons
By several hundred sessions
And maybe a lonely soul
would hear the record’s death rattle
Passing the music on to another lucky soul