Prelusion
A winding, black serpent snakes its’ way
sometimes East to West, sometimes North to
South, it undulates to and from when no one sees
or wants so see the death and rebirth of the burning
thick tar….bending light and fantasy, dead trees line
the shores of a dream reaching with tentacles toward nothing
and nothing lives or dies
On
Plank road.
Grey, wood houses, perhaps three or four pulsate
and breath the sour air, exhaling the stench of a
death and a thousand memories of
chaos and turmoil that boils reeking plasma
of nothing….nothing whispers, nothing breaths
nothing is sated and all is timeless.
Such is the calamity
Along
Plank Road
Especial
His hat is of corduroy long since worn. The
clothing of rags layered for warmth all bespeak
of a so called subhuman. The lines on his face exhibit
the miles of hardship…battles won and lost against a
world of coldness and repugnance against his being
and those of the same cast and sentiment, whose
Only sin
Is
Living
This shell of a man once had a name, when plebeians
showed respect for his humanity and status…all the
falsities of another world whose existence is forgotten
by this denizen called “Smokey” and forgotten just
as well, lest his remember a thing called family and
Sunday dinner with all the trimmings that would
Make him
Scream
Hate.
“There must be some way outta here”, Smokey
hummed as he loaded the means to an end for
all of his tortures and their shortcomings. So quick
so easy…”and so castles made of sand fall in the
sea, eventually”, he croons . One, then the next
as the blood pooled around bare feet…free he
decides and the wind
Cries
Silence.
Inception
There comes a time in every man’s life when
new roads must be traversed and overtaken and
the horror of such an undertaking is real to his
soul and fiber. The road less taken, the poet
preached can be an empty task leaving the
travel weakened, perchance to die.
Smokey will float
Down
Plank Road.
His first step is a shudder, his second a
throbbing deep within his shadow, a third
step and the canopy of claws whisper a
welcome that decries his humanity and
questions this intrusion of light amidst
all that is heinous and wanting.
and nothing is wanted
Along
Plank Road.
Step after step is heavy and hard. Smokey
can’t fathom the hardship of this chore. It
is but a road of many, why is his mind fevered?
Something beyond the trees? Is it the nothing
between lightness and dark. A specter neither
lives nor dies, being constantly reborn to exude
a soul crushing grip
On the heart
Of men.
Smokey hastens now, the road throbbing and shifting
his crazed mind a torrent of thoughts long forgotten,
the bodies of past remembrances are alive on the road
wafting through the broiling tar, reeking of the smell
of death. He endeavors to find his starting point but
the scenery has changed, all is black around him.
The bodies scream
Come float
With us!
Denouement
The scream in his throat is stifled by the heaviness
of his heart, to move is pain, but move he must.
around a curve that becomes rigidly straight, on
the right a shack of sorts, perhaps refuge from this
madness that is claiming his soul a specter at a time
soon there will be nothing left, just a void where once
Was a man
A vacuum
Of darkness
Smokey’s fear leaves a coppery taste in his mouth
as he throws his beaten body inward through the door
and is rewarded with a pop of release from the thing that
held him on the road of horrid destiny. The door slams behind
by unseen hands, the clawing from without is fierce and anger
filled as the road moans of a loss to the shack. The shack
welcomes him
With a
Murderous sigh.
“Hey Smokey, where were you going with that gun in you hand?”
the house breathed ….uncompromising horror filled our soul
as he turned toward bleeding walls with gaping mouths of
clicking teeth and rotted gums. “We have your wife and
daughter that you so freely gave us or did you forget?”
The apparition gave way to worn grey wood walls.
And Smokey
Caressed
The nothingness.
Manic depression searching his soul…dreams of carnage
and the bloodied smiles of a long ago nightmare carve
caverns through his mind throwing reality to the side…
the hour getting late now for our slaughterer of life.
The winds begin to howl preaching retribution for
This man in a box…
Footsteps
Dressed in red.
Consummated
It comes from outside this overture of the dead
he knows why he travels this aversion from
sanity…the evil and unholy sacrament he created
has come for a finality of justice to this minor
creature of the road and the road will show him
the way…a slithery apparition is just outside to
Take
You
Away
Answer the door Smokey, some things a knockin’
Some thingies want to play with your spirit which
is owed to us for traveling Plank Road. Your wife
and “that bratty kid” want to see you for some
eternal hugs. Smokey is beyond the living…he is
in the dark place behind the dead wood congealing
with the
Blood
Of revenge.