Hurdle, Part 14
Every pen
new tale
tells you.
Run takes
all pens’
solution.
Regulate camp
fire’s flames
bodies easy burn.
Keep coal hot
throw feed’s sticks
who writes "help?"
Shaman buys
bullshit’s own
initial magic.
Stat
Cause lost
in translation
from world
to view.
Heart broker
casket open
case closed.
Would have
died anyway
days before
next birthday.
Priest maskless
collarless
body count drab.
All numbers
are crunched
into one,
process sped up.
cause of death
blacked out
burnt after read.
Magic bullet
slight of handed
blown back
into air.
No Poem
On the train
room for thought
only after six.
must leave now.
Don't know why
no one likes you late.
No one knows
what to do
when you're early.
But they sure hate
when you stay
writing poems.
Fold your lobster claws
gripping archaic
pad and paper.
until you stab heart
with no way
to make record.
Next stop. You're there.
No poem. Get back
to work. Thanks.
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