give me a good keen axe
for the sun needs wood
to break its fast
bring me the rooster
that wakes me
with his death rattle crow
for as surely as the sun comes to the table
the rooster
must lay his head
on the executioners block
i must be faster than light
for the purity of the blade
requires that it must not taste
a drop of blood
so as to sharpen
its killer preacher thirst
Within the white washed barn
with the weather vane topped steeple
the creek out runs itself
rapidly east to west
we built a bridge
with the rotting timber
of the white washed barn
to get over the bathing exposed
fornicating pinnacle rocks
but the family of trolls couldn’t sleep
with our feet trip trip and tripping
across their roof
like rain from a storm
that could float an ark
so they devoured our unicorns
before they could frolic
in the greener pastures
we had passionately seeded
under the honey moons glow
things got worst when i ate
our only fattened Pigasus
our dreams vanished
like virgins
when the dragon came a courting
in springs frenzy
sneezing fire
because of his pollen allergy
you packed your bags
then of down the road
you dragged them
kicking up dust and wailing like kids
till the coach came along
your fairy god mother got out
like a bikers bar bouncer
to load your baggage onboard
with her tornado grace
i caught that last glance
you threw my way
it sits in a cookie jar
with your other pickled onion looks
that i could never swallow
the sun is just a dying
floating ember now
i stopped stoking
so long ago
i survive on rooster eggs
hanging out under the bridge
where the trolls once lived
they dined of me
till they cleaned me to the bone
then moved on
crossing the bridge
to follow the water west
where they swore
there was more light
leaving me chattering
just like maddening wind chimes
to the breeze
bout the cold southerly
that cause my bones to ache
in the alzheimer depths
of the cold lonely northern nights
when the shadow of the creek bed
slowly rises to wash my feet
into dust
© bg 2012
resurrecting the trashcan bard 