:like ON THE EDGE OF PO VER CITY

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on the tattered street by the sidewalks of diversity

lie bare and broken the remnants of a civilization’s dream

discarded and no longer significant to the progress of the modern era.

the streets of silence howl with night, they feel the brittle fingers and the bite

………………………..of the lost entrails of the fading sun

they feel that comet on the run

like no longer dying

……………….but no longer fun.

 

……………………..The bright illuminated headlights of the planets sun

………………………………………….shine above the city like a darkened plum

…………………….the skins of the city dirty come

………………….for a breadth of pleasure to fill their sum

……………….but the dreams of the mortals are not soon overrun

………….for they savored the bitter sweetness of the silent one.

 

…………………..broken and shattered you can hear them plea

……………….salvage the remnants or they’ll never see.

 

……………………..and back on the street the wheels still roar

…………….as the fire of the sky above does burn

………………………..so the wheel of the killer still does turn

…………..   as the remnant on the street feels the rubber pound

……         the motor and the earth feel the burning ground.

 

………………………….bells ring         souls sing

……..        the remnant and the sky didn’t hear a sound

…………………..they were happy for the silence

……………………………………in a dream

……………………………………….they   found.

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fj llorente – Texas Max King – circa 1996

PLACID ANIMATIONS IN A RED BRICK SHELTER

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The animals need no love.

Weather is always adept to fornication.

Mother’s breastfeeding milk never rises.

When do crickets have time to dance?

Plant specimens grow faster than human specimens.

They shake and grind at the first sight of trouble.

Where do the stars hide during the day?

Does the moon ever really cry?

Every core of burning meteor someday grows cold.

Where does the butterfly buy color?

There is no vault.

There is no permanence, anywhere.

Ever.

 

I once met an old man without a face.

His body was no longer his own.

It had molten into another cocoon.

He was forever trapped in his own shell of gold.

He was always trying to take someone else’s face.

He was a man of many faces. He was two-faced.

He wasn’t a man.

No one called him for advice.

He never needed makeup. He was ugly.

His gold cocoon kept him happy.

He would spin webs of gold around everything he ever wanted.

He had the finest cars, beautiful women, boats, planes, castles and armies.

He would spin webs of gold around all of them.

He had no silver. His cocoon was hollow.

 

One day his web ran dry.

He couldn’t save face.

He died.

His cocoon shrivelled up and melted after the first rain.

His gold ran back into the rivers and buried itself deep in the Earth.

No one ever remembered him ever again.

His children became butterflies and flew away.

Butterflies without any color.

The crickets had no time to dance.

The moon cried that day.

Every mother’s milk began to rise.

A bright green meteor fell to Earth with a tail of gold.

Two worms fornicated in the rain.

And the stars came out at night.

 

 

 

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11-11-15