A newborn enemyís tricks (Of this Of that, an error in your hate)
Cowboys and girls get your potato chips here come the college teams with white hats and the riders on the storm they depend on the life that never ends and unfunny comments made by unfunny people in an attempt of annoyance but it doesnít work. An attempt of avoidance of the face of fear they fear to face the face of fear. They sarcastically comment on the environments gifts and the theories of what is presented confined chained from composing free thinking thoughts they consume and look past simplistic beauty almost for a second smell the exhaust of a large machine
Pass by the outlaw heís famous you know, rebellion is his game throws you a plant from the Midwest forest. No just say hello for a minute to be judged you react in harshness. Click of the spur will frighten you alright take the sheep you gathered back to the blacksmith you tried to give them horses shoes, what a fool you were smelling the jerky dried from the store across the path, makes you a little hungrier than any leaf ever did.
The birds of the Thunderhead
Blind horses carry what used to be goods on some beginning paths. Round-eyed predators run with sharpness under the swiftness of the hunt. Common evening suns blackened silhouettes and the people that shadow them or rip open rivers. Cattle and hogs at the edge of death with old skulls buried beneath some rocks. Journeymen (seen many things) comes to this place, where green hills and desert rocks collide, where sand dunes meet a great waterfall, where the insane mud slides raises its power and greets the wet leaves and foggy iced snow and super crimson red yellow lava are equal. The journeyman shakes with so much to take in, eyes water in surprise. He stands stunned in the rain that just bounces back up, no puddles. Hundreds of the most awesome eagles and hawks, crows and ravens come... (to be continued)
Rain & Eye
True evening in green. People get ready to pass you as you wait to turn. Fast with no thoughts, forget the tip of the hat no round flat top hat like civil war hello stranger. A forward wave of paint on an unnoticed canvas, an eye that hurts for days. Sunlight hurts it too, rain would be nice. In months it hasnít rained there, the best rain is any rain the sound of when it hits. Slivers of relaxation unless itís with some thunder, rattle and boom the low sounds of fear.
Johnny and Crazy Jane, Juice jackets and an Axe
Silver covered skull, painted red eyes. Justice Duke Joker Prince Johnny walking backwards by a doorway, crazy Jane with short hair, died dark something slams it as he tries to pass again. It was just an attempt to surprise then with his steps. He gave a quick glance inside, even the word hello makes crazy Jane shake angry. Like she's got some magical knowledge crown and a dictionary in her suitcase, blue shirts and "I do this" hats. As if one action Johnny did, she knows who he is and that he isn't any sort of carpenter, and definitely doesnít know the works of any great painters from centuries before. Harmonica, silver pen and art in pockets and hands, Johnny jumps again at the closed door. Laughs and tingles his heel takes a drink of juice from a flask and dusts off his jacket. "An axe to that door would be fun, but maybe another time. Yea, its people like that, that makes me go insane. One hello, make a joke and they tell me who I am. What a different kind of judge that is, the more annoying kind that likes books about saving flowers but the book was made with flowers anyway you know? What a dance I would like to do on a bloody floor inside their brains, they make me insane." says Johnny. Jane declares off with your head and just one hello "donít bother me not today, I know I said that yesterday, its really not my day, off with your head really this time you think your so great?"
With great patience and black charcoal like dust, Johnny draws an axe on the door. "Take a look Jane, but Iím just a joke! Hello!"
The Race above the ant
The (most) jagged hornet and a stainless steel looking wasp tear through the air, before the wind pushes them back. Sun glares on their backs, wings see through with speed it contacts. Below giant blades and spikes carved and colored dull emerald. A twist in the sky a flash of a movement wasp and hornet in a race. Quickly fuzzed a jacket of sun, stripes of stinger black, night sky black strength it arrives in the competition. A bee, thick and heading towards the flyers. Under a few heavily barked and full of leaf trees they go and the dangerous layered most criminal red roses below distract the bee. With a turn and flip he goes down. The hornet and wasp keep their legs up and wings out and with ten thousand eyes they see everything. Then the spit of a crow blocks the way of wasp, but he stabs through it easily and the drops slip off his metal body. If smoke could catch them, they would be on fire
The priest is in the rain and he doesnít know it. Heís lost his mind many times and many years ago. The bell behind him, the one with black and bronze, gold rust and dust with that desert kind of black cloud glow to it. He rang that bell until his ears started to bleed, until he saw a red sun. The most beautiful red sun with the light that made water golden with thirsty treeís branches taking drinks from it. The open street looks sad for a minute, but like the summer day with clouds the emotion lasts just for one day. He runs down to that center fountain, like a dream he doesnít remember if there is water or not. His trembling hands by the brown sleeves of his long coat and hood, laughing and crying a blurry line for sanity.
No jewels on the crown of the newly formed enemy, who thought they could walk away first. Across a few small hills, with muddy puddles. To a building a place with geometric forms of stone and a memory of colors. Inside the gold and yellow plus a wise man with the minds of the entire people heís ever communicated with. If you talked to him he would tell you what was on your mind. "Future, present, tomorrow what now? What do I do? Why? I need water." He would add some powerful words with it, and shock you. Make the Amazon River's sweat drop from your forehead, make you think. But he spends his time alone, people forgot he was there and he doesnít care to promote himself, he spends his time amazed by the owls and gathering visions of clouds in his mind that he wish he could see.
Deeply captured in the thought. Massacre minus the people 75 years ago. Old glass dusted, itís hard to see through. The ally always has a puddle or two and a few shadows with some liter in the city. Have you ever met a philosopher behind a Dumpster? The bearded man maybe gray hair, have you met him? Is he a doctor with some cures for you because youíre in the ally? Not much changes there between the structures of today. The people behind the restaurant have clown makeup on and old brown hats. A crazy man sits, yes he's insane. He's lost love and given up, spent money and forgot his name. Tomorrow will be harder today will be long. He speaks of loss of things he never had and two words to the only song he knows. He wants to sell his broken shot glass to you, itís lucky to him.
Flooded hill to a waterfall itís green and like a monster. Destroys the frame of two forests. He runs, the birds see fish and wait on a nearby stone. The thought of dying in a cave has scattered away, now he thinks of going for safety.
"Why go the way everyone else would go?" He tells himself he will run into the waterfall, the river now, the monster. If he had somewhere to turn, he would reject it and go farther.
So he ran into the water. It wasnít that deep after all. The birds sang an awesome tune of joy right as the refreshing water hits his toes. The sun came out for a few minutes and the water flow slowed. For a little while the leaves looked a little greener and in the distance he thought he saw some healthy flowers with pedals of happiness. It was only a short glance so he could not really tell.
After he rubbed his face with the water he sat down. Some sparrows gave him a visit and took a bath. But the joy soon ended and this clear water and blue sky was not well received alone with the birds. So he kicked up some mud and started walking again away from the hill from which the water had come. No river of emotionless tears can make him come back to where he started.
On his journey, like the horses and men before he will create his own dirt paths. Enter the dark forest where the atmosphere goes black and the ground goes invisible and minds go lost. The reflection of the wolverines eyes or a fire, burn or bite he continues on.
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copyright 2001, Kevin Weir