a shorn turd

there once 
was a mannequin called sean hannity
who played
with the man boob of inhumanity
he lied
on air to feed insanity
to breed
high ratings with disunity
to blow
his Trumpets fake life sucking vanity

©bg 2021

the doom slinger 10

twas hot 
as a furnace
and the
bellow cheeks
of a
hollow god
were blowing
a hard
divine wind
creating
dust clouds
that
veiled the
horizon
as the
dark began
to cover
the once
lit land

materialising
out of the
dust clouds
riding along
a dried up
creak bed
as the
applause
died down
from the
stone crows
flapping
a
lone being
the Fates
called
Coyote
coated
in dust
rode
into the
Firmament's
baked hard
land
on the
back
of his
big red
planet
sized
horse
breaking
a
chilling silence
that had
fallen
throughout
the
darkening
ancient gods
graveyard

the sound
of the
horse’s hoofs
drumed
a warning
echo
through the
silent dusk
to the
phantoms
hiding
in the
cavities
and
behind
the
broken bones
on the
edge
of the
darks ledge
that there
was some
being
of a
some what
deadly nature
that had
entered
into
their realm

a warning
that a
doom slinger
was
coming
that would
go
unheeded
for the
aroma
of death
that hung
on the
horseman
was like
honey to
the Fates
and their
bear warriors
or
other foul
minions

Coyote
looked
along the
dried up
creek bed
at the
stretched out
burnt out
Satan
whose
smouldering
bones
the Fates
detested
rested
under the
hanging hair
of an
ancient ones
skull

the
broiling heat
was trapped
by the
dark lid
that slowly
covered the
Firmaments
cauldron
making the
atmosphere
feel
even more
oppressive
as Coyote
moved
his big
red horse
towards
the
charred form

as he
drew nearer
he saw
a trio
of stone
crows
perched
statuesque
on a
stretched out
bone arm
of an
ancient god
gloating over
Satan's
remains

Coyote
reined in
his mount
and
from his
elevated vantage
point
quietly drew
his
silver skull
engraved
shooting
pup
with a
blue
as death barrel
for
Coyote's
scary
white eyes
could
still see
wisps of
smoke
rising from
the remains
whispering
a warning
that
danger
could still
be lurking
somewhere
close at hand
in the
now
darkening
landscape
of the
ancient gods
graveyard
of blood
spilt sand

Coyote
leaned forward
in the
saddle
looking down
on the
smouldering
bones
to ask
of them

"well well
old fiend
of a
friend
i'm a
guessing
you're all
burnt out
from
chasing
that
figment
Justice

i'd say
time heals
all wounds
but
well lets
just say
i don't
usually use
gratitudes
platitudes
in an
interlude

it seems
an oracle
erred
it's seams
nah
seems
to me
to be
all oracles
err for
the Fates
and their
dictates
so why
one
has to ask
did you
believe
Destiny

questions
for
another time
i'd wager
so
bye bye
for now
ol' fiend
i have
other quarries
other stories
to get
done
and
dusted"

©bg 2021