Night out on the town

A skitter.

Crawling. Scratching. Feeding.

Can dig again, but they always disappear.

Melting into elastic walls.

Crusty bedsheets. Four Loko. Gaia's sins. Hair.

Forgotten familiarity.

 A crackling drone. Livid snow. Wailing against a glass prison.

Mother is awake. She must be hungry.

Twitching feelers searching for a dank haven.

Always searching, finding only lies.

Shuffle in. Flickering spite. Mother smiles in sleep. Cute.

A flash. A buzz. A vacuum.

Acessorize. Less metal this time. Pedestrian.

Shave. Trim. Tic Tac. A note.

"Mother shies from dark meat". So picky.

Hat. Gloves. Boots. Goggles. Door.

Calvacade of sounds.

Barks, bursting wooden mallets. Twisting sinews of sirens.

Phlegmy whine of the A/C. Shrouded ghouls ascend to taste air. 

Unseeing plastic eyes glare. Smile and wave, smile and wave.

Blasting metal across the road. HORSE. Birdo.

Rolling cascades of hollow thumps. Lurking behind, lying all the while. Geat migration.

Slide into the throng. Sideways glances, narrowed slits.

They shiver, though there is lack of cold.

Pulsating waves, ebb and flow. A watchful moon. A grand audience.

Beam and wave, beam and wave. Ultraviolent light.

A squeal of delight. An embrace. A tic. No tac.

Arrival. A spliff, a spark, a buzz.

I'm a koosh ball.


Wet mist. Obsidian plated with speckled gold.

Vibrating growls, mechanical steeds, belching penumbrae of progress.

Spindly legs, mandibular vacuity.

Marching to the hole, follow the pheremone trail.

God save the Queen. Ba'al save the drone.

A honeyed circle.


Waiting for ionic slate.

Waiting for a plaything of fate.

Waiting for the string to break.

A mimic. The question of the unprepared equipped.

Exposition. Pliable. Soft eyes. Milky.


A flash. A squelch. Muscle memory. Efficient.

Crimson haze. Nails. Gnashing teeth. Leather is tough.

The box is stocked. Mother is so reliable. Another spliff.

Waiting again. Temporal window opens, letting in a sweet breeze.

Luna grins, so very softly. So pure. Salute.

Shower. Eat. This one will be better.

Mother still smiles. So happy. She needs a tan.

She always reprimands bringing work to bed. can't help it.


Quiet. Bargained time.

They'll come back. They always do. 

Searching for the dark.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

to anyone who cares: I'm back! (for how long i know not ;P). Uhh kinda attempted fanciful minimalism here, if thats a thing. First draft, might make it longer/better/work on mood changes. Please give me criticism/advice, and I hope you enjoy as much as something such as this can be, lol. Dont be afraid to write interpretations/ask questions if you deign to care. good day! also, post any specific poems of yours you'd like me to read (see 4th clause back)

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SSmoothie's picture

Sounds like a bloody long

Sounds like a bloody long night! I love the changes in perspectives one leading on to the other! Some dis jointed ness but I can't decide whether this helps or hinders? Great so far! Hugss SS and... Welcome back! :D 

Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS    

"Well, it's life SIMS, but not as we know it" - ¡$&am

mrpoofs's picture

where do you think the

where do you think the disjointedness is? i mean, the whole thing kinda is, but what parts stand out? just need some perspective lol, and i could get it from anyone you'd be prime directive  for sure lol

ashes_twisted's picture


I feel like you wrote this while sitting by your window with it open...

There is a limitless feel to this one,

and I like it.

Well done Mr. Poofs!



"We are, Each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." -Luciano De Crescenzo

allets's picture

Fanciful Minimalism

Beaudelaire, I think coined that one. Or was it Sacrates - I get them confused ;D ~~A~~