BRUNK HOWARD


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Creature comforts Hadleyburg revisited

The creature moves to center stage

Looks out at no end and no age,

Filled seats, and a keystone in a cage,

Dreadnaught and a phoney sage.


The creature’s eyes circle its head.

All lullabies are put t’ bed.

All angles are undescribed

By math that closes its eyes to hide.


The creature’s eyes do all embrace.

Truth screams, “there’ll be no trace.”

And closes its eyes to erase

The single winner of this race.


Creatures here, creatures there

Creatures, creatures everywhere.


In this unending ageless room

The creature lays a knife, fork and spoon.

Comfort food, sweets to consume

To the beat of a single broom

That swishes a staccato: soon, soon soon.


The people wait as bride and groom.

Heartbeats away from a conscious swoon.

And though it’s already afternoon,

They won’t live to see a lover’s moon.

It wasn’t worth their free balloon.

Or the warm-up Itchy an’ Scratchy cartoon.


The creature leaves center stage

Gone the vassal, and the page.

The serf, the lackey and the servant.

Betrayed the need to be observant.

(Tomorrow there’s more to be done.

There’s more where that came from.)

The creature checks its atomic watch.

Checks the angle of its crotch.

Throws a kiss to the empty room.

Does a two step with the broom.

Knows it will never sin.

And climbs aboard its palanquin.


Creatures here, creatures there

Creatures, creatures everywhere.


Walk under a ladder

There’s nothing sadder

Then taking the long way around.

In a room with no view

He finally knew

Dictums of a faceless clown.


He rose from his death bed

And stubbornly said,

“There’s only one thing, ya know.

Movies in black and white

Have the most color, (yeah that’s right),

In every picture show.”


Agreed said the cat

Agreed said the dog.

You see it in black and white.

Now if you please

Hand back our keys

And sign out in your life’s log.


A human walking with a dog

Through morning thrill and a fog.

A free gift not to be missed.

A composition that gives bliss.

The walker is blind

Of its gift bestowed

As aesthetic undertow.


And so I enter my ship in a bottle

T’ go for a walk with my dog that’ll

Take me, take me to the tiny seas

And the cosmos of infinity

While all the while I strew and throw,

With no intension that I know,

The beauty of an afterglow.