Petal – Olde Punk

the scent of the dogwood

petals drifting to soft bed

their crimson reminders

stark on white

I remember the sound as my town lies dying

the fall out of midnight as Mr. Sunshine

banks and curves, He’s the nightmare

stuff that frightens King and Cave

wide ass smile with one deep dimple

dark eyes of a shark in frenzy

He has a red right hand and a left one blue

a long mile coming and a breath or two

his need for an event horizon

is strong indeed

Infecting the populace, stirring the dead

teasing with masochism and candies

those young in the head

Mr. Sunshine likes to devour the foundations

and watch it all fall from the absence

Burning dogwood screams against

the hate and malevolence as our town

lays dying

No work, no hope, no direction, no community

just anger and abuse and the needle and the juice

the Way of the Gun, Mr. Sunshine’s favorite fun

knots and bonds undone under the grin of Mr. Sin

and his midnight zeros

Some people say we had it coming

but I don’t know

I recall the scent in the fall

and the petals resting on the floor of the forest

thinking that there are worse places to be…

but that was long ago

prior to that pious bastard

Mr. Sunshine and his midnight zeros

once we knew of unity and sacrifice

the petals remind me so

We sit sanctified in our heathen afterlife

watching the buildings burn

Believing in nothing is a belief in something

Our sciences tell us that nothing consumes everything

so what side are we really on?

petals in the snow and binary code

one two zero zero

image courtesy of Lewis Hine and Pinterest

[inspired by the Orwells song ‘Ancient Egypt‘]


 

[Olde Punk is an editor of Sudden Denouement and the curator of Ramjet Poetry.  Hockey, food and punk rock junkie.  Total sci-fi/fantasy geek.  He writes, right?]

Am I Still Here?/Jasper Kerkau & Nicole Lyons

jn1 (1)

Emaciated by tortured flowers,
Bored expressions of expired emotions.
Stinging, charred words
dangling in thick air,
poisoned by expectation
Withered and violated
by meaningless conversation
he speaks softly,
vapid illusions
she lingers,
listens,
slowly decaying—
death beckons

I am still
here, pacing
through doorways
under a fluorescent sun.
My battle
cries flat,
pulled to hang
grotesquely
from cracked lips
plied into
an accommodating smile.
I am still
here, existing
behind shadows
inside a false twilight.
Or perhaps
I have eclipsed.
I am still.
Am I still here?

They don’t see me
swallowing knives as
they dance and laugh,
popping balloons while
I ingest their poison,
burning with acidic words
stinging the back of my throat,
I smile and nod to the world
look past the back-slapping
and soft kisses,
I disappear while they dine
on superficial conversation,
slivers of gold mixed with
trivial condiments smeared
over their delicacies.
The belching laughter hides
my diseased thinking,
the self-loathing that is divided
unequally.
They don’t see me
in the weak hours, meandering
down hallways with funny hats,
withering in their jovial retorts,
longing for someone to share
my portion, to starve themselves
on the nothingness I stab with dull
knives
They don’t see me dying, emotionally
decayed, fumbling in the dark places,
longing for an understanding embrace, but
there is only nothing, bitter nothingness.

Nothingness greets me
with twisted smiles
and happy laughter,
pouring from a mouth gagging
on the truth, and I feel again.
I feel the cold chill of terror
and death coming,
to raise the hair
on the back of my neck
as if I was a cat,
arching before
an offensive growl,
low to the ground.
I will spring and fall
into this abyss,
dance circles around
nothing, sway naked
with death, down
the scuffed floors of these halls,
writhing to the beat
of the screams they buried
in my head.
And I will arch my back
and throw my head
high
enough to drop
this slick sickness
from within and leave it
in the bones of this place,
of their place,
and it will ring,
through the walls
out and in
to the pockets
of every soothsayer
and handshaker that has fed
off the fat
of my back.


Jasper Kerkau is a managing editor and writer for Sudden Denouement and editor and writer for The Writings of Jasper Kerkau.

Nicole Lyons is creator of The Lithium Chronicles, as well as being an editor and writer for Sudden Denouement. As always, we are honored by her presence.