4711 the number of
the beast
we were the kings of
the command line
the breakers
the crackers
the phreakers
ruled
the net was young
the rules none
whistle whistle
CONNECTED 2400
midnight sessions of
CGA YELLOW TINTED EYES
The Humble Guys *
Razor 1911 *
ATH and then
some sleep before
starting again
nothing
Nothing
NoThing
NOTHING
speaks to me
like the breaking of
the weakest link
the majestic
once standing
now falling
crumbling
I close my eyes
and smile
That sound you hear
is not a sizzler
arriving
it is I
standing right behind you
smoking a stick
of dynamite
awaiting the
mind blowing
moment of
truth
I find myself again
struggling to comprehend
decisions made
truths never spoken
the life clock is closing in
nearing three minutes before
a new day begins
the doomsday bell is
calling me
I insist I am
innocent
the blood you see
is mine
I stand by the chosen path
though lonely roads await
my feet afirmly planted
on soils of old
albeit cold
I find a way
to manage
evil the fluids contained
the metal string wrapped
a foiled neck
a foiled plan
sobriety lost
once again
uncooked, the virgin shape
sustenance for
wandering souls
hiding in shadows
cast by the moon
void the light
darkness crave
a sacrificing hand
each page
as the moon needs
crying eyes
to wax
the poet
setting words
alight
Rapid fire from
a squirting pen
the bleeding a
gush of red
seeping through
cracks in
unfinished sentences
widening
swinging both ways
I pass
urgent urgent
stay away
I approach
bat in hand
swinging randomly
the thief
the rapist
the power seeking
stretched prone along
the trail I’m leaving
behind
