Writing Apocalyptica

Hey folks,
I'm in a poetry class and we're writing a series with common theme as final project for a small chapbook. This has helped me flesh out my game and so if you have anything written. Post here for kicks. Seems like a fun idea to barf forth.

Cheers,
Ampersand


The Golden Age of men had already ended. This is my world
where bullets fly, things break, bodies litter the ground that
undomesticated dogs have reclaimed in the name of nothing.

My best friend is a crowbar painted yellow. It busts open
doors, heads, windows, ribs, and locks with no distinction.
It helps me conduct my business (breaking knees) and leads
a symphony of thuds, yelps and crinkling bones. The sounds
 of rusted hinges surrendering  is a prelude to my favorite part.

I’ll never get tired of listening to broken glass.  It sounds sweet
as it falls, clattering like silver jingle and snow onto the streets.

My name is Atlas and I enforce the laws of Old Man Rickets.
I live in the Castle Hotel. Broken glass sounds pretty. It’s fun,
bubble wrap fun. My best friend is a crowbar painted yellow.

They say

They say
Love grows
When the fear of death
Looms.

They say
Courage looms
When the fear
Of never loving again
Disappears
In the smell of the enemy
Who crushes us so much
We can only fight.

Love and courage grow together
When the flesh is rawest
And the spirit charged
And distorted within the nightmare
We see the possibility
Of a future.


 - Ben Okri

There once was a world, 'pocalyptic
whose agendas presented as triptych:
first, don't be spurious,
second, stay curious,
and third: vinyl skirts with red lipstick.

A Good Piece of Barter
                         will cover a month’s expenses
if your tastes aren’t too grand. It’ll buy you the safety of
 that gunlugger for a week.  It could pay for tributes, bar
tabs, or fresh fruit. Not canned, like straight of the plant.
Cotton swabs unused are worth a clip of bullets or fresh
water. A fistful of batteries could get you a pair of boots.
Gasoline is running low so I’d pump all you can out of that
driver. Errol, he stock piled it but his bike is finished and
it does him no good just sitting there, looking flammable.

Gambling could fill your pockets as soon as someone else’s.
Think about it, walk into town and hear that jingle thunder
behind every single step. Luxe galore and all-you-can-eat.
I does you no good if you get mugged left in the mud, broke,
broken down for the next scavenger that comes along. So
go grab gun, to make them back it up and dance to your song.

Now you’re all stressed out from protecting you hoard. So
now let’s go unwind with all kind of whores, skinners, and
girls, the kind who dance at this bar.  Call it Kingdom Come
where jingle means luck. And if you’re willing to pay they’re
willing to. Yeah, a good piece of barter will cover all that.

first, don't be spurious,
second, stay curious,
and third: vinyl skirts with red lipstick.




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