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Poetry And Pie July 14th

July 01, 2012

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Dauðadag

The night I set the chair on fire, they sent two fire trucks, and three cop cars. The cops came up as I was watching it burn, and they did not even try to take my beer from me, or the gas can, which was probably a good idea. The flame was a two-story high column of orange light and stinking black smoke from the burning foam rubber, and the greasy sixties floral skin of the thing was polyester, at least in part. The gasoline exploded when the flame hit it, and the boom had made my neighbors report an explosion, their weirdly sculpted bushes lit with sunset and hell -light. The chair had a name, was the throne of our underground court, beside the washing machine, the sump pump hole, the empty whiskey bottles, the Black Sabbath and Misfits records, the black indoor/outdoor carpet,the windows used as doors, covered in stolen flags, the chair of office soaked in bong water and gas station wine, in boilermakers and cheap gin. I had been hounded, as I was going away to school, off to seek ...

The night I set the chair on fire, they sent two fire trucks, and three cop cars. The cops came up as I was watching it burn, and they did not even try to take my beer from me, or the gas can, which was probably a good idea. "That's a lot of cops for a barbecue" says I. "Shut up, kid" says them. The flame was a two-story high column of orange light and stinking black smoke from the burning foam rubber, and the greasy sixties floral skin of the thing was polyester, at least in part. The gasoline exploded when the flame hit it, and the boom had made my neighbors report an explosion, their weirdly sculpted bushes lit with sunset and hell-light. The chair had a name, was the throne of our underground court, beside the washing machine, the sump pump hole, the empty whiskey bottles, the Black Sabbath and Misfits records, the black indoor/outdoor carpet,the windows used as doors, covered in stolen flags, the chair of office soaked in bong water and gas sta...

When the cunning engineer built the gilded cow your mother crawled inside, to fool the god's white bull, and let her have her pleasure did he foresee you, your awkward crown and the palace he would build to hide you in? When you squatted at the center of the maze like a dull spider, among the bones and greaves, inevitable did you see your death come strolling, unwinding thread behind? And when he had taken your life from you, and left you in the center of that story and began to ravel back the thread did he see, tugging on theother ends the woman avenged, and the children thrown, bloody and dead in a heap, the dragons teeth that sown sprouted armored men? Did he see the them carving, even then his seat in hell?

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Poetry And Pie July 14th

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