{eternal city LIMITS}
1.
neon images ripple across glass flooring of obsidian
smokey atmosphere fills the spaces in between things and it saturates the world --
towering cylinders loom in the ever-dark skies;
the disenfranchised wallow an unlife in the permanent shadows unseen.
filth covers everything --
suffocating reminders of a horrid cosmic caste.
rats nest into palatial monuments of refuse unaware;
hope is a luxury.
the sky is an alley between man made valleys, electrical wires are clinging sinew
pin points of light streak across smog highways untouchable to those below
sickly green fluorescents stammer morse along the streets
the unheard beat of a dying metro-heart.
sickness is for the low parts of the concrete paradise in blackness.
on the unseen horizons it is said lies a castle of glass
far above the ash of low lives, blue skies reign and white clouds abound
to escape for even a moment...
a fortune's worth of anything and possibility.
and below lies the dirty neon obsidian relic of a life gone by and forgotten
the world above in dreams and no one ever sleeps.
2.
she never sleeps and she doesn't care
she eats people whole.
no light remains in her blackening heart
and her residents are sickly mirrors of her intentions.
at night sometimes she weeps acid tears
and the foundations of her once great elegance erode.
sometimes when it’s almost light in the sky she remembers
who she used to be
full of promise.
but then the clouds come and she screams out in blackness alone.
her children they know she is dying
their lives an extended funeral procession.
greedily she holds onto them
an embrace so absolute only some are strong enough to flee.
3.
she can never die.
she can only twist into a nightmare visage
horrible and corrupt.
she is a mirror of her parasites.
one day all will turn to dus
except for her,
the tragedy of eternity.
a mutated version of paradise lost
and hell redeemed.
Showing posts with label spacemen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spacemen. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
28 x 28: February Twenty-Three
Short story. Guess where I got the inspiration?
I wonder if they talk to spacemen. I ask myself that every morning when I get the paper. Across the street is a huge concrete building. There's nothing special about it. No windows, a few pipes either going in or coming out, and a pretty plain steel door in the front. I guess if there was one thing I could say strikes me about the whole thing is the huge metal spire sticking out of the roof. It's easily taller than anything else in our little town and exceptionally more bizarre. At night the red lights all over it blink on and off. No one ever leaves that I've ever seen, but every morning when I stumble out my front door to grab the news three men in really nice suits show up and walk single-file through the door. I don't really know if they're the same three guys every day. Nondescript is the best word I can think for them. Either way I've never seen them leave for the day either. To be honest, the whole thing doesn't really bother me anymore. Sure in our otherwise normal little suburban town the building across the street is basically an eyesore, but no one has ever had a legitimate problem that wasn't aesthetic. Still, as I sit at my average little breakfast table and look out the window into my quaint backyard to watch the sun peak over the trees, I can't help but muse. Our town is far enough in the middle of nowhere that a radio tower doesn't make a lot of sense. But maybe it's not a radio tower. Maybe it's something else. Maybe they're collecting information on everyone in the town for the government and beaming all that info back to whoever they report to. Perhaps they're doing some kind of diabolical research that will either help save humanity or utterly destroy us all. I think about this all throughout breakfast, but the moment I finish my toast it couldn't be further from my mind. I take a shower and I put on my work uniform and feed my dog. On my way out the front door to hop in my car, I always manage to steal a glance across the street. One day I'm going to go knock on that door, and when I do I can only think of one thing that would interest me enough to ask: "Do you guys talk to spacemen?"
I wonder if they talk to spacemen. I ask myself that every morning when I get the paper. Across the street is a huge concrete building. There's nothing special about it. No windows, a few pipes either going in or coming out, and a pretty plain steel door in the front. I guess if there was one thing I could say strikes me about the whole thing is the huge metal spire sticking out of the roof. It's easily taller than anything else in our little town and exceptionally more bizarre. At night the red lights all over it blink on and off. No one ever leaves that I've ever seen, but every morning when I stumble out my front door to grab the news three men in really nice suits show up and walk single-file through the door. I don't really know if they're the same three guys every day. Nondescript is the best word I can think for them. Either way I've never seen them leave for the day either. To be honest, the whole thing doesn't really bother me anymore. Sure in our otherwise normal little suburban town the building across the street is basically an eyesore, but no one has ever had a legitimate problem that wasn't aesthetic. Still, as I sit at my average little breakfast table and look out the window into my quaint backyard to watch the sun peak over the trees, I can't help but muse. Our town is far enough in the middle of nowhere that a radio tower doesn't make a lot of sense. But maybe it's not a radio tower. Maybe it's something else. Maybe they're collecting information on everyone in the town for the government and beaming all that info back to whoever they report to. Perhaps they're doing some kind of diabolical research that will either help save humanity or utterly destroy us all. I think about this all throughout breakfast, but the moment I finish my toast it couldn't be further from my mind. I take a shower and I put on my work uniform and feed my dog. On my way out the front door to hop in my car, I always manage to steal a glance across the street. One day I'm going to go knock on that door, and when I do I can only think of one thing that would interest me enough to ask: "Do you guys talk to spacemen?"
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