starving chain

We were held up by a new town that had settled on the tracks
The engineer fought the mayor in a high-stakes handsome-off
Our hopes were lower than high
So I told the Blue Muslim to move the barber's chair or else we'd have to open the fifth gate
And ask the furnace what's the buzz
What's the buzz, fire and gray?
The news was good, talk of circle paths and underground bridges
And frigid horizons, to keep the food fresh and far away
Rumble, bumble, mumble, said the engine
Tumble, crumble, humble, said the hill
Escape plans, getaway hours
Ample, sample, trample, said the busy
Not a sound example, said the still
Everyone was out the windows by now, short of port
Eyeing and disembarking, since the doors were locked
At this new pretty limits dock
We covered our ears with newspaper and shoveltwine
And set up our shoes for a stretch
The all of us, squaring through buzzing and humming of lights
And new water mains and new houses built on old dirt
And old houses moved, to lean on fresh earth and block new wind
The engineer stayed and became the new mayor, he was so handsome
And the other mayor stayed and became the old mayor, he was good-looking too
And we walked and we walked and we walked
And the sky said blurry, scurry, hurry
And the wind said swoosh, whoosh, rush

delirium tremendous

Any opening in the ground, any relic of distress, would've looked good to him. As long as hedge-holes were bounded and porchlights were rounded, he thought, nothing would be around long enough to look as bad as it was. But the terra stayed horribly the same. Following robes was proving easier than arborescent ascent, but dropping down would be a good way to make going back not his fault. And the man he followed had shown a sudden turnabout, trading questions for answers that were pithier and less revealing than the surrounding horizon. With wide paces, the holdcart made short steps of foot. It was morning porridge to keep up, but the direction, while straight, seemed to take longer than the distance it held.
"How far did you say it was? We've been walking for...where's the sun been?"
"I didn't," the bishop replied, "Sun's always been where it is. We're the ones doing the moving, as you'd notice." There was a new air in his voice. His breath was more in it, that is to say, from it, out of it.
"And how far would you say it was? Is?" he retried.
"Far enough to be farther away from here than we are. Close enough that we'll get to it before we've passed it."
The sun did rise. This time, though, a part of it near the ground was blotted out.
He was relieved, but not much (more like an alligator's head from a crocodile's body than like a penny from paper), to see another figure in the distance. The silhouette was dragging the rising sun, coming straight for them. After what seemed like some time, long or short, the figure was not two dozens lengths from them, inside a shouting area. And shout the figure did.
"Ho, foldvest! Where've you?"
And for the first time since he'd met with him, the bishop held tracks.
And it seemed that no-one had a thing to say, for just then.

claws for feat

Early morn, the sun had sunk
In stature 'fore a bird.
Dead was I, and also drunk
But still I gave a word:
"Good to you, please caw and sing,
I want not see you go.
Please stay a while, rest your wing.
Hello, little crow.
"The world is hard, as for I'm proof,
It beats you 'til you've stopped.
From death I tried to keep aloof
But, under it's hoof, dropped.
"A useless bunch of bones and skull,
So stoic, on the street,
An eyesore and an obstacle
Beneath the horses' feet.
"I can't swift-swing a hammerin'
Or hold a sail from tear
Or holler that I'll be 'round then
Or now or here or there.
"No hand-kerchiefs I never had
For goodbyes to be wavin'
to brother, sister, mom or dad,
Jus' you and me here, raven.
"Can't shake from me the lot I got,
Like water from a duck,
Or ever be what I was not,
As such is all our luck.
"But nothing will be wrest from need
While I lay here and rest.
To you I leave myself to feed
Your belly and your nest.
"No sin'll take me 'low the turf
Nor grace that I have took
Will carry me above the earth,
Just you can lift me, rook.
"Though I be breathless, weak and still,
No spirit been released,
You have a job for me to fill.
I fill you now, deceased."

ad-in

Once weres a woman of honest brung-up
A lover of music 'n law
Bore well in Texas, near Teaspoon-And-Cup
She learn'd all the things that she saw
Wen' to Los Ain't-Ya-Just, stomped grapes and then
Jumped herself over the bar
Left for a barkeeper in Michigan
Settled down, once 'n for our
Made up a coupla well-meanin' kids
Named them from names from before
Kept them in line while they did what they did
Taught them no less than what's more
Spent years as daughter, wife, mother and friend
Proffessor'd in which what she knowed
It felt like she'd always stay were'd she'd had been
It seemed like she'd never'd've go'd
"I've stuck around long as I guess I could stick,"
She said with a grin 'n a cough
"You can' serve abreast if yer hell of homesick."
Then, soon'r than most, she took off

Smog of The Immomal Man

Hold, assail and see.
Pleased to sing for your sputter.
We're drinking from the hose.
And coming to blows.
A blown nose and a shown show.
We utter.

Holy sails at sea.
Pleas to sling arms and mutter.
They're thinking of those.
And coming in from snows.
The bones grow and they groan low.
And flutter.