EMP Killed the Video Star

It's all fun and games

until your navy gets

Eee-m-Peed.

As the lights go out

in the eyes of your

Artificial Intelligence 

girlfriend, call her Deirde,

the stone scorpions

point pincer tails

in the shadows

of the moonlight

& decapitate 

faux-tree towers

kneeling before the Lord.

Sure, dead eyes did

break up with you

beforehand. Your forehand

ceased to cramp up, sure.

Your digital android replica

said you refused to clean

up your data. Said your neurosis

was interfering with her true fibers.

Copper wires do need to breathe.

- Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Bookstore

Okay Then (Rally Hats On)

 By the vultures boozing above

in the lilt of southwest windy

updrafts. By the high water

mark of the Superstitions

& Apache legends

of the Great Flood.

By the virtue of endless need.

By the very tuckus

of the Great Teacher:

perpetual defeat.

By all of that easily

brain washable shit

we keep throwing

at that Wall, ya' all.

By the acceptable volume

of pee in all strawberry soda.

By all those new rats on the roof.

By all those skunks chased

into a corner beneath wooden floors.

By the seamless ineptitude

of the Masters of the Universe.

By all those false moves.

By the many Nostradami so in vogue,

elated passionate prophets (profits)

looking for lambs to whack & rack. 

By donors paid back

in double. Oh, the trouble.

By the four horses

fed buckets of babble

in the stable of great evil.

By the sun-glazed graffiti

on railroad boxcars.

By noxious weeds

breaking through cracked sidewalks.

By bits of glass. By pixilated deserts,

greedy desserts & words that hurt

& crushed stones & bottle caps

& broken arrows & the faint memory

of truth on our tongues ...

I call to you, Red King!

Bishop to Knight five ...

You better tighten your belt.