sonny61

                                                   Mojave Mirror      On and on and on, he walks through the shadow of the fading day. Dry, desolate and ultimately unforgiving he walks on and on and on.      "And does this please you?" asked the man with the graying hair. Salty, peppery, but not yet white, it remains unbleached by the harrowing sun.      "Of course it does," replied his reflection dimming now as it had for the past few days. Always at dusk, always at night the shimmer passed from sight.      The man wondered if, perhaps,

For those who wander with all unknown And surely live in doubt The wonders of the world not shown You might ask yourself… What's the world about? So much is blocked Sights dripping sweet are seen from behind A stubborn door, which has decided (of its own accord) to remain locked For all who sit behind the door Key ring held in hand So many keys strapped to that band But the one seeked is lore. I hope you find it, I really do So look at the keys hang so askew Remember to try each everyone And if you find it don't forget to Give it to me That elusive key For it is mine, I want to see.

Diary of a dead-man: The three stages of death I. All the little things inside Scream out in waves of crimson tide And as the pain does not subside Fetal position of warmth we hide II. Rocking to and fro we sit The tendrils of our nerves are lit And when the agony seems to quit We seize and tremble in quite a fit III. The shaking of our bodies break Breath expelled, no more to take Our fevered minds boil and bake With thoughts expelled, no more to make

I. He closes the door. The night sky so clear, so bright. He walks down the walk once more, Beholding beautiful the darks sweet night. The ground crunches beneath his feet. Hands in pockets, shoulders shrugged against the cold. Soon destiny this man will surely meet, Into the tool for time this man will mold. The walk ends, asphalt meets his shoes. He looks left and a monster he beholds. Its yellow eyes hold still this man, he does not move, Its teeth of silver shine moons light it holds. Its breath warm displacing nighttimes chill. The beast hits hard and knocks him to the ground. He slams the pavement. Hold on! He steels his

I. He lays wait inside the shadows In the alleyway by the street Every know and then hell poke outside his beak But only this and nothing moor save the tips of his steal toed feet He squawks! He squawks! Squawks and then retreat Unto the shadows, his nest he sleeps II. The Gigantic Mr. Birdman He sits and takes a peek At all the passers bye and die It lifts him unto sleep III. When awake he holds his perch Just behind the shadows, at the edge of the alley Waiting Wraithing He watches Smokers, Dopers, Beggars know All, they stay away From The Notorious Mr. Birdman they know will block their way Waiting Wraithing His ey

Scrub Scrub Scrub Scrub Scrub it all away The waters warm, his hands steam hot Scrub! Least the red betray. As it swirls and bubbles whirl The spot is cleaned None is left to stain. Or so believed. Not can clear away The scarlet does betray Scrub and claw and gnash and gnaw Hope and pray, console but nay! Thick copper mud Dried sticky crude Salty sweet Flowing heat Red as hell Ye remember well Open pumping veins And scrubbing done in vain Yet scrubbing all the same. Scrub Scrub Scrub Scrub An yet… It all remains Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

A light alight Alight an oiled wick Growing bright from out our sight A flickering maverick Swaying side to side In the glass jar it resides Shifting as it coincides With the soaking of the wick Through the darkness glides Crashing from the tabletop The floorboards scorch and groan Kindling the seed that bleach the bones It hops up the wall and climbs the top And melts the paint in sticky clops Searing grains, burning yellow Hardly is it mellow Frightening red licks up the sky Snapping sparks pop off and fly Ya… its time to take a nip of gin The liquid liquor roles down his scruffy chin Snappling sparks pop off and f