Mythville Shrugged

A dark red star glows in Vologda,

camouflage tanks tumbling 

with baskets on their heads,

rolling like loaded dice 

covered in napalm,

moving at a Sirius pace 

toward the intersects

of civilization, spawning big hordes

in the over-population boom,

funded through the benefits

of centralized banks, centralized control.

Reports dance across the map,

daily eliminations bolstered

by mere economics,

picking off the meek

McNamara style,

blueberry bombers & vanilla fighters

& tangy submarines, Leviathan beasts

from crimson kingdoms, flying dragons

& air-raid sirens & amber flames

nightbirds buzzing, hawks hunting man.

The apocalyptic rock

goes tick, tock. Tick. Tock.

Eleven-o-clock-a-rocking.

Neo-psychedelia connecting to the Christos.

Meanwhile, money laundering fiends

with bucket-list totalitarian dreams,

avaricious as black & yellow bees, 

selling condos at Wounded Knee,

pirate-planking the deep waters

of the History Channel, clipping,

chipping away, like rabid green 

conservative turtles 

from some aquamarine Disney scene

as the lights go out in Flatland, Texas.

Red-neck denizens drum up the dumb,

expressing abstract repressionism,

Bible black & chunky in church-lit light,

junked up on party polemics,

teething down brown babies

& collecting all of the silver keys.

Atlas sluggers, apple pluggers,

 terrible beauties born into deep state plumbers

wearing purple passion rubbers, 

tempted & red-hatted, zombified,

gathering in Periander, Segeum & Cleophon,

farting up clouds of calamitous pandemonium,

drifting masked Krakens 

of disinformation floating

across the lands, teamed up

with stoned pilots high on speed

& the Almighty,

bashing the rubble to ashes

right down to the basements,

scything the ethereal peoples

for their personal redemption,

because when the President 

reads the Good Book

somebody is unbound to die.

Oh yes, in this dimension

the Nazis won the war

and live in luxury,

making rockets in Huntsville, Bama Jamma,

invading the moon, buying all of the cheese,

all of the crackers, the corn farms & refineries,

black-boot-stomping madly

for the petroleum bump,

as you try to manage

a Predator drone video screen,

hovering in the moonless 

Russian night deep in Vologda

but the lights go off & the music stops

in your bunker on Midway Island,

leaving the grid to display a snowy

heart-beat-pattern shaped by the green sea,

grainy unicorns running

in a hive pattern of Fibonacci edges,

Admiral but ordinary as the lights go out

in Berlin, Paris & Rome, Mars and Mar-a-Lago

tiny toy aircraft dropping broken arrows

on charcoal landscapes,

leaving grey matter & blood splatter

 as an empty crate explodes

in the Port of Baltimore, 

the lights going out, Poe's ravens

dropping death from the sky, 

cancelling all of the football

& the daily reports

on the genocide in Gaza

as rats rule the roosts

in the encampments of Ukraine,

where the lights are also going out, 

wild in the field as flies

as Foucault's Pendulum swings

& the DNA of Qumran is daggered

by new age Hassan-I-Sabbah

and the lights go out

in the convenience store sugar shack

& there's a call for a cleanup on aisle three,

clean up on aisle three,

a kid with a handgun.

 Cleanup, Clean Up.

 Aisle three. Aisle ... three.

~ Douglas McDaniel,

Meteor Crater, Arizona

Mythville Books