stillfugue

I
We will slam whiskey inside the greenest hurricanes.
If we get simple, I will have an aneurism.
If we get stupid, I will sing happy birthday.
If the dogs chuff soft, I will hunt silver cactus.
If we hear the river, I will drag my conscience to the sand.

II
Tracing the sickened path of radiation meant for a terry-cloth lion,
hijacking happy genes and donating shot glasses,
we will breathe purple air with white pelicans,
growing weed for bouncing chuck wagons,
jumping rope on hoods of new white cars,
leaping boundaries on Robitussin highs
towards a bleeding mountainous dawn.
And then I will be down. And done.
Don’t you come lookin’,
Eggnog chaser.

III.
Plastic bones breathe deeply, snorting, begging for tape and glue,
through thicket and over the falls,
on to the mat where your tools and promises await rebuilding.
We will slam whiskey inside the greenest hurricanes
towards a bleeding mountainous dawn
of shrill wind chime voices freed by your disillusion.

Evelyn at Filling a Hole and I worked another duel or dual yesterday. We created two poems with alternating lines and then we used any of the lines without altering them to create one poem. I cheated and made a three-part thing, but it impossible to keep up with the artist Evelyn is.  (Here is a link to our previous dual.)

Here are Evelyn’s masterpieces – She cheated and made two:

Feeling Crabby

A Tumbling Down Construction