#2 Feeding Fire (Poetry)
Cool is the whisper of shadow kept cinders, cornered without promenade
Our comrades have fallen in arms, squeezed tight, jazz syllable-If you ever heard bones pop,
Pretend you looked the other way. Someone once said where there is smoke there is fire,
Love of misinformation? Just like, cool, as broken hydraulics of a spider, twitch spastic
Choreography. Acidic, our intentions, chemical reactions in eyes of plastic wearing body-suit
Neon yellow, taking ill on vacation. Our facility has air conditioning when it snows outside,
but Warmth comes from inside skulls ripe, death is dormant as sleeping at night, windows open.
Fire is the coal that fuels the tender when marching mind-side in promenade
Our comrades have fallen in arms, squeezed tight, jazz syllable-If you ever heard bones pop,
Pretend you looked the other way. Someone once said where there is smoke there is fire,
Love of misinformation? Just like, cool, as broken hydraulics of a spider, twitch spastic
Choreography. Acidic, our intentions, chemical reactions in eyes of plastic wearing body-suit
Neon yellow, taking ill on vacation. Our facility has air conditioning when it snows outside,
but Warmth comes from inside skulls ripe, death is dormant as sleeping at night, windows open.
Fire is the coal that fuels the tender when marching mind-side in promenade
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Author's Note
Going back in time, or bounding into the future. Welcome yo another piece of the madness, of the philosophy, of the contorted jelly spread across the page. (Imagine each line is singular without any rubbish wrapping to the line below)
Other stories by Rand M. Burgess
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You know how an M.C. can choose to rap with the beat, behind it, or ahead of it? You pull off all three. And you had me snapping my fingers and thinking of Branford Marsalis. Damn Lovely.
"as broken hydraulics of a spider twitch" i am a sucker for the mechanics of movement.