abbey lubber and old bellow wore each finger, desperately reaching...

abbey lubber and old bellow wore each finger, desperately reaching...

(witching hour congregants)

<practicing conversion methods 
these budding alchemists 
set about cadence dancing 
while un-casking some stolen cognac>


strange noises take flight 
wee wee'd about this night 
wind and shroud, knives out loud 
sought trees and stones 
as if all were flesh waiting...




"...oh we are 
a-drinking in the reeds 
with the future 
with mothers and sons 
with empty baskets, prayers 
and gun manufacturers...

they would say 
any land can have bands 
of their cowboys reach 
rural to inner city kids 
tomes to teach
how to aim and respect 
any projectile weaponry 
used to serve and protect 
spiritual interests, laws and lunacy...

this way each day's
market share, booth and group
can kill indigenous claimants
instead of waiting for smallpox 
or the slow suicide of cultural self...

decadence takes too much time to kill 
though delicious to watch, there is not 
quick enough profit in its fill  
but divide, we will 
spilling cupped emotions 
and splintered parts of memory 
souls are want to keep 
before we undo the hinges...

we will make everyone fat and nearly illiterate 
all the while selling style and comfort 
as the keys to the cages 
they have designed themselves 
their shelves, heavens and hell(s ) 
their wombs, tombs and between(s)...

this way, they are less apt to fight back 
when master tightens the leash 
know this as you grow drunk 
and pleasing, they will wear 
what we may care, a beast
to hear them say, "that!"

...is what they 
wished they were 
more like or used to be 
than what they are today

this way 
they'll know 
coming to realize, 
any and all feelings 
of same sided-ness 
is given short shrift 
because even when 
people might now be 
acknowledging bigotry 
they are still 
easily sliced
lots and wives 
kept, turned to salt 
wanting sugar 
on the other side 
of the pillow 
as a piece 
of belief 
that somehow 
divinely got in..."


<when the bars 
began to close 
there was always 
uneasy echoes of laughter 
at that last bell> 



EJR ©