A Barbaric Yawp

A Moment on an Overturned Chair

(6/10/11)

"Take my kindness," she says

And hands me a drink.

"Embrace a small dance

And a passionate think.

Ignore the phat beats

To an extent, at least,

And let Lady Danger

Embody the feast.

Borrow Inspirado

Till the morn wreaks your pain

Till the bottom drops out

And top welcomes again.

See the chick with the whisky

Making poor use of her smile?

In a lengthy grin's company:

The raucous crocodile?

See him breathing down her neck

And draining the good sense she has left.

Don't let it be you.

Don't let it be true.

Let the lady fill your quill till this solo is through."

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Lady Danger's wanton kiss:

A bloodbath bouqueted with bliss.

She knows no difference twixt tongue and fist,

Or the inky flick of the writer's wrist.

Feeding the Mire

Four soldiers in shoddy armor beg to go to war.

After all of the bloodshed, they still know the score:

That peace isn't even in my periphery.

And yet, they plead with me and pledge their troth.

They say, "Twist us out and quench us both,

Oh Captain, Oh Lady, Oh Danger, Oh Pride.

How does it feel to be warring inside?"

And I answer:

"It feels like the devil on the first day of school.

Or like a spider heavily spooled with candy cotton,

Ever aiming to snag the forgotten:

The biggest flies of all."

It's no surprise I obey the call to go marching,

The call to play,

The call to make of me a longer day

In which I may strategize the plot.

In which we weave.

In which we rot.

In which I bewitch the truth en masse:

The soldiers were always dead in the grass.

Spilling out.

Drinking in.

War is truly the most splendid sin.

Lady Danger rides again:

Faithful foe, fearsome friend,

I was waiting for your kiss again.

Let us Pen & Sword till Mighty ends.

Lady Danger's Day

Friday tries to reel me in,

The old days: the Lady's grin.

Wooing me at every pass

From every wine-filled water glass.

She says “Kiss my lips and hold on tight.

I want you to knock walls tonight.

In the morning, you’ll be alright

And the ink you spilled will justify.”

These aren’t the old days, not even close.

Not even with the drink and smoke.

Not with sunrise on the prowl

Or stories that are cat toys now.

The Lady takes my reluctant hand,

Saying, “This used to be your promised land.

Remember when you took your stand,

Declaring ‘Awful drunk is awful grand’?”

I shake my head, lay down my pen.

The old days will not rise again.

Still, it’s hard not to sup

From such an honest Lady’s cup.

She pours the wine, I drink it up.

She’s the wolf and I’m the pup,

Begging for a drop of blood

Or a taste of Riding Hood.

A little bad, a little good,

A momentary “Perhaps I should…”

The old days have come and gone.

Where I thrived, now I yawn.

I gave them all I had to give.

But Lady Danger still knows where I live.