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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Tunnel of the Dead

The pungent smell of rotting flesh permeated my existence

Wrapping my stained handkerchief around my face hadn't helped
And I briefly considered rubbing it on a pile of feces that I'd passed a moment ago
But I decided that would just invite other issues

But it wouldn't smell as bad
It just couldn't

This cave seemed to have no end
Nor did the dead bodies that had defended this natural corridor in the mountain

But then as my eyes moved in sync with my carbide lamp's reflected light as it flickered it's yellowy light
I mentally amended that thought
And redefined the corridor as being man-made

For up at the top of the tunnel were tell-tale regular tooling marks
Left long ago by a boring machine of some kind

While distractedly looking up
I stumbled as my foot stepped on a dusty weapon
My weight upon it flexing and breaking the wrist of the body that still grasped it's handle
Fingers still wrapped around the grip
one still firmly on the trigger

This man.......
Scratch that as I see the remains of a brassiere mixed in with the rotting clothes resting on the torso
This woman died firing her weapon

There must be some honor in that
But I'll never know it I hope
As I value my cowardice

It has kept me alive so far in this life

The dark tunnel stretched out beyond the reach of my light
Mercifully empty of any more bodies for the short stretch I could see
Though the smell was still there
Cloying at my senses
Which should have gotten used to it by now

But it hadn't
And maybe never will

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Hank's Wedding Vows

I think about you as I masturbate
As you stand above me eyes full of hate
I can't touch you
I don't dare
Your cold dead eyes lock my stare

Tied down tied up
Is how you fuck
Either you or me
Restrained you see
Ligature marks digging in
Everything we do is a sin

I recall when we met
Our eyes locked and you got wet
Fates sealed from that point on
Conclusions all but forgone
Entwined in skin sweat and sex
As each new day followed the next

You are mine
I am yours
Up on two
Down on fours

I give thee this ring forevermore

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Vendo Armadillidiidae

Roly poly's of opportunity walked their many legged walk
In and around the moist crevasses
The rotten logs and decaying leaves
Staying out of sight for them most part
Until I move something from on top of them

And in those few seconds that they are exposed clearly
It is as if they freeze in place
Giving me broadside views of their layered armor shells
Colored in broad strokes and begging me to pay heed

"I lost 9 pounds in ten days!"
One of them trumpets from the advertisement upon his body
There was a link to a website too
But he motivated too quickly for me to copy it down

"Amazing opportunities in Google advertising!
I work from home!"
Another larger one said
And instead of writing down the link or number
I pondered if the little roly poly could even read it
Or if it was like those humans who only read and write English
Getting Chinese character tattoos
Just trusting in the artist to get it right as they go

I picked one up which had an extra confusing pattern upon him
He rolled into a ball at the touch of my fingers
Making plain the message he was trying to get across
For in a circular pattern around his round ball form
Was the image of a gold coin
And the words
"Cash For Gold!"

I went for my camera but sadly dropped him
Losing sight of him and his message in the dirt

All the rest had gone as well
Though their messages were now burned into my brain
So that very evening I quit my job and started advertising on Google Ad Sense
I sold all the gold and silver jewelry that I owned at a place that had a man flipping a sign out front
And I ordered a magical weight loss pill

Thank you opportunity offering pill bugs
You have changed my life!

Monday, August 26, 2013

House Lego

My Lego house is interlocked
Upon a scale model base of 4 hectares
Assembled just like the expired patent says
With a tolerance of plus or minus 5 micrometers

In the odd hole nook or cranny
You'll find gears that do things
Opening doors to half imagined floors
Ropes of string supporting plastic lifting rings

Occasionally a familiar yellow rounded head will appear
Atop a minifig body of indeterminate costume
Riding one of many Lego Mindstorm machines
Leaving a trail of expended ozone scented electron perfume

Designed to come apart as easily as they snap together
This house just hasn't disassembled
Back into it's box, or into other creations
Every time I try my fingers get close then trembled

What if it means something?
What if it's symbolic
Of human achievement
Of universal unity
Or maybe it's just the first thing I built that has lasted since I became an alcoholic

I'm betting the real answer is 'C'
But I can always hope for the first two
So I just keep adding on new and colorful additions
Because it just seems the rational thing to do

Sunday, August 25, 2013

I Hate Those Kinds of Problems

"If one ant climbs up each arm 
Of the giant statue of Ganesh
At exactly 0.01 kph..."

And then the screen froze
Refusing to load the next slide
No matter how much Yabish hit REFRESH

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Mister Ouroboros Never-ending Snakelike Thing

Mister Ouroboros is such a boring snake
Always eating the same thing
Tail stuffed into his mouth
Body forming a never-ending ring

Birth death rebirth only to die again
Empires rise and fall and rise again
Everything in unending cycle
For Mistor Ouroboros doesn't know when to say when

As a symbol he is enduring
In reality he is quite boring
Friends whispering behind his endless back
"Oh look, Mister Ouro-'boring'-oros is rolling back in"

Mister Oroboros chokes back a tear every time he hears
But knows his popularity will come back in style with his friends
Just as with everything
In his world without an end

Friday, August 23, 2013

Turkey Break

Two steps out onto the porch
Cigarette smoke inhaled in
Turkeys gobble into the yard
Let the games begin

First the mama then the babies
Not so much babies anymore
Having grown almost to half her size
Gaggling along behind her
Pecking at the ground for bugs
Making little whistles and half calls to one another
Working their way around the yard
On a route that is regular routine for them
And would have resulted in a visible trail
If they actually weighed much at all

Blowing smoke rings idly
I watch as the mother turkey struts around
Herding the little ones along with looks and quiet mother noises
Until the circuit is complete
And the whole family makes it's way out the opposite yard gate
To move on to the next stop in their daily ritual around the neighborhood

Except for the last little one
Who always seems to get himself lost
Whether behind an open fence corner
Or in some tall weeds
Lagging behind for a few last bugs
Mother turkey stopping in midstride to gobble her disapproval
Telling him to hurry himself up

I stab the cigarette out
As the last little turkey runs in a half panic around and out the gate
Joining up with the family
To proceed at a more sedate pace
Along to wherever it is that they go

Until tomorrow my turkey friends
Good evening and good night
May you roost safely
Your dreams full of light

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Pink Frosted Circus Cookies

"Nothing ever happens around here"
I muse silently in my head

The remains of lunch scattered across my desk
To make room for me to lean in and play my phone
Whatever the latest flavor game is today

My box of pink frosted cookies is all that I have left
And I idly tear open the box while I wait for a game to load
Which is one of the drawbacks of having an older model phone
I secretly think that every update puts in a slightly longer delay to all functions
Unconsciously making you want to upgrade to the newest model

My racing game comes up and I pop a hard pink frosted elephant into my mouth
Sucking all the frosting off the graham crunchy cookie
Picking out some car I could never have in real life
To throw around a race track in a place I'll never visit
Racking up imaginary damage that means nothing
Running other cars off the road when I can
For there are no black flags thrown in this game

Outside in the street that I wasn't paying attention to
An elephant stomped it's way down the sidewalk
Ripping up parking meters and throwing them in a mastodon-like rage

My eyes were glued to my screen
Tilting the phone this way and that to make turns
Jabbing the touchscreen with my thumb to brake
Hitting a long straightaway and reaching absentmindedly for another cookie

This one is a frosted tiger
And it melts in my mouth almost untasted
Just in there for the feel of it really
Frosting melting away
Cookie turning to mush as I pressed it up against the roof of my mouth with my tongue
The same way I've eaten them all my life

Now zombies marched steadily on my position
I planted plants in their path as fast as I could gather sun
While trying to ignore the advice of crazy Dave and his time traveling Winnebago
Argh! One is eating my walnut!

Unbeknownst to my focused mind
A white tiger rampaged in the wooded median across from my office window
Chasing puppies and squirrels
Never quite catching them
More of a rough kind of play than anything
But everyone was screaming and running away just the same
Sirens approached in the distance

The tiger approached my window and turned around
Spraying it with urine before bounding away

But I played on
Now piloting a small jet pack laden boy through impossible scenarios
Down a path that always went from left to right
Picking up bonuses and upgrades
Avoiding laser walls and static charges
Trying to get as far as I could possibly go before dying

My blind fumbling fingers found a zebra cookie and tossed it in quickly
Masticating it without any thought or emotion
Just filling the empty maw with material
Distantly satisfying some urge to bite and chew
Ignoring any signals from stomach or brain that said
"You Are Full - Please Try Again Later"

The desk below my clenched hands vibrated rhythmically
As a herd of zebras thundered past the office
Startling the birds off the building front
Kicking up dust in an imitation of the African Savannah
Followed closely by a man with a barrel on wheels
Who scooped up the inevitable 'gifts' they left behind

The wheels on his barrel bin made a squeak just as he disappeared from sight
And at that I looked up at the window
And it all looked boringly the same
A car going by slowly
An old lady walking with a cane
So I buried my nose back in a phone game

Saying silently in my head
"Nothing ever happens around here"

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Light From the Sky

Star light, star bright
Your blinding rays light up my night
I think at first you must be Nova Dephinus
Almost 100 light years from Earth
Showing us how you died
Only tonight

But it turns out you are just my flashlight
Burning with one million candle efficiency
Draining your battery effortlessly
Sitting upon my roof
Where I last dropped you
Shining directly at me
With white LED intensity

I'll come up to get you tomorrow

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

High In The Blue Dome

As a child
The sky was simply there for me
It was blue all the time
Whether hidden by clouds
Or darkened by night
Carpeted by stars
Or the moon's illuminated reflected light

To be stared up at in wonder
As a child does

Now halfway through life or more
The sky is still there
Capping all of creation
In it's Robin's egg blue hue
Clouds here and there
Stars and moon hanging in clear view

Stared up at in no less wonder
As most humans do

But now it's full of other things
Assemblages of metal and composite
Hammered and torqued together
Woven layered and cured
Aerodynamically breaking free of the Earth's tether
Defying gravity at least for a time
Leaving trails of moisture marking their passage
Or waves of sound to search for
Always fooling my ear with the distance involved

You can't look where the sound seems to be coming from
For that speck in the sky has already gone far past that point

The sky is full of physics and practical mechanics of motion
Actions and reactions proving theorem every day
Metal fatigue and sacrificial wear
Waiting to be fixed or come flying apart at the seams
Pressurized tubes of metal and composite
Flying high or low, slow or fast, carriers of dreams

To be stared up at in wonder
As a child does

Monday, August 19, 2013

Supermodel Meloncholy

The imperfection of my reflection rips at my soul
Feeds my self doubt as I look at the real me without

Without smoothed pixel photo-shopped perfection
Without designer clothes provided for free
Without two hours in the hair and makeup chair

When I awaken as the real me
I hate myself

It's the crunchy candy coating that I love

Sky Oak - A Chipmunk Tale pt2

Three ghostly shapes could be seen clearer this time
As they almost simultaneously broke out of the high cloud cover
Leaping up into the clear air
Trailing wisps of water vapor behind them
Staying in clear view for perhaps ten whole seconds
Rough woody trunks flexing
Green spoilage streaming out from branches as they went

Sky Oaks
Heavily laden with their acorns
On their annual migration to the breeding grounds
A place where no chipmunk dared to go anymore
Which made the time of migration the only time the nuts could be harvested

The three Oaks slid back beneath the clouds
Seemingly oblivious to the smoking steaming zeppelin only fifty yards astern
With a virtually insane chipmunk in command
His face practically plastered to the front view window
Madness in his large dark anime sized eyes

"Man the harpoons!"
Barked the Captain into his brass comm tube

Springing into action
Two crew chipmunks scampered up the superstructure
Into the envelope area
Running and jumping across catwalks that ran in the lift tank area
Bursting out a small hatch on the upper nose of the craft
To man the two steam harpoon cannons that resided on a small platform there
Their black beady eyes scanning the clouds
Looking for movement
Quivering with anticipation
Their cannons hissing steam out the seals and overpressure valves

The Captain locked his silver hooked prosthetic onto the frame again to steady his slight body
"Ready on the throttle and elevators!"

Almost as he said it
The three Sky Oaks broke the clouds once again
Now only twenty five yards out
Dead ahead and down

"More speed and dive!
Go! Go! Go!"
The Captain would have jumped himself if the thick glass had not stopped him

But that command would be his last
As the already overworked steam turbines surged at the influx of new pressure
Chugging hard repeatedly
Two of them breaking their mounts to fall spinning into the soupy clouds below
The remaining two engines simply detonating in place
Throwing hot shards of metal everywhere
Ripping the Hunter Zeppelin Wild Weasel  to shreds

The explosion threw the Captain forward
Through the opening where an instant before had been the main front glass of the bridge
Straight for the Sky Oak
Which was lazily on it's own little arc up out and back down to the clouds

With his zeppelin falling in pieces in his wake
Captain Blighter folded his four limbs back along his body
Tail fluttering madly behind him
He screamed a high pitched chipmunk war cry
Flying straight at the mid trunk foliage of the mighty oak

Landing hard he rolled twice before gripping the thick bark covering on the tree's hide
Gleefully yelling in triumph
He barely had time to revel in his mad pointless conquest
Before the oak dove back down into the clouds with it's two mates

Suddenly blinded by the high cloud vapor
Captain Blighter tried to catch his breath in the thick moisture
Suddenly losing his balance
He gripped the bark as hard as he could

Blinded now he couldn't adjust his balance quickly enough to know what was happening
As the Sky Oak rolled itself in the cloud coating all of it's leaves with an equal amount of moisture
Dripping off the excess
Fluttering in the wind of it's forward progress North

The Captain found himself on the bottom side of the tree
And unable to hold on
His left hand prosthetic unable to find purchase on the thick bark
He valiantly held on for almost six seconds
Until his claws gave out and broke off

And he fell
Following distantly the wreckage of his zeppelin

To the treeless grassy plains far below

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Chasing a Ghost - A Chipmunk Tale pt1

Captain Blighter shoved nuts into his mouth
His eyes scanned the horizon
As they sailed a sea of fluffy white clouds
He wasn't even chewing
He was just staring and shoving with his good paw
Until his furry cheek pockets were full to bursting
With whiskers standing straight out at attention

Finally his searching eyes were rewarded
As a dark shape arced up out of the clouds
But only for a few seconds
Before sinking gently back into the mists

"There!  There!  Full throttle and straight ahead ye swabs!"
Nuts sprayed out of the Captain's mouth as he yelled in little shrieks
His chipmunk body positively vibrating with intensity

The throttle man wrapped his little paw around the lever that choked the steam from the boiler
Opening it up all the way
Venting pressure to the driving cylinders
And calling into the brass communication tube to the boiler room
"More coal men!  Full pressure
Target in sight"

The Captain paced the bridge as the steam pressure turned the propeller turbines
Spooling up to maximum RPM
They whined in a mechanical quartet
Thrumming the whole structure of the metal zeppelin in rhythm with the thrust

A rough air pocket shook the craft
Causing it's shiny metal skin to flex crazily in places
The sunlight flickering and bending along with it
Reflecting disco ball points of light onto the cloud bank below periodically

The Captain hooked his left hand prosthetic onto a lightening hole in the bridge support
Allowing it to take his weight as everyone else scrabbled for balance in the turbulence
His eyes were focused ahead still
Looking for his prey
Once again rewarded with a glimpse of it
Closer this time
Only three hundred yards off the port bow

"One degree left rudder!
More speed!  More power!
I'll have the woody bastard this time!"
The throttle man prepared to add more steam
But the X.O. put a paw on his shoulder
Getting his attention and gently shaking his head

The X.O. approached the Captain
Holding tightly to the brass railing around the perimeter of the bridge
"Captain, we cannot put any more into her
The lines and turbines will not put up with it
Do I have to remind you of what happened aboard the Drummond?"

Captain Blighter whirled upon his Executive Officer in a nut spewing rage
Bits of which pelted the X.O.'s face as he jabbered back at him
"No!  You do not remind me of that!
Nobody reminds me of that!
I am reminded of that every single day!"

The Captain unhooked his silver articulated hook from it's hold on the frame
Swinging it dangerously near the X.O.'s face
And nearly losing his balance
Only a most undignified waving of his arms and tail saving him from falling
"More!  Damn you
The systems are tested at 150%
All I'm asking for is a little bit more!"

The X.O. nodded back to the throttle man
Who squeezed his lock handle
Ratcheting the lever forward three more clicks
As his eyes watched the gauges in front of him nervously
Needles on the four engine tachometers vibrated their way past 100%
Reading 105......110......115...... before finally stabilizing at 120%

The crew of 23 chipmunks could almost feel every beat of the propellers now
Right deep in their little chests
Their hearts seemed to beat in time with them
Everything vibrated furiously at the same tempo

Friday, August 16, 2013

Some Friendly Persuasion

"What's my motherfuckin' name?"
One hand holds a chisel tight
The other swinging a hammer with all your might

"Who's your fucking Daddy?"
Words leap from your dirty mouth
Body sweating in the humid heat of the South

"You're my bitch now!"
Triumph crows it's egotistical cry
Even though it's all just an embellished lie

Tis just a poor rusty broken nut
Now laying in two pieces on the hangar floor
Halting the gear change process nevermore

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Sketch Attack

Squiggle by squiggle
Line by line
Shapes take place
As I drink my wine
Chasing each other across the white page
Turning on me in a fit of rage
Breaking the bottle and making threats
Shards of glass in their spaghetti strand hands

I had no choice but to set them free
But reality isn't the answer
They'll soon see
Drawings on the run don't have much fun
Full of the emptiness of their artist
Poured out upon the page

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Gift Shop Girl

Going to the gift shop
It's where I buy my things
My pens pencils and paper
Hummels Beanies and diamond rings

The gift shop girl
She smells like lotion
Not the good kind they sell
But like dead things by the ocean

In short
Not good
But bad
Sort of underarm stained

In the back of the gift shop
Is my favorite bathroom
It's where I like to pee
And light off farts to dispel the gloom

The tiles are uncracked and clean
Everything shined to an unholy gleam
The first time I went in I was stopped in my tracks
Until I remembered that I had to take a crap

Gift shop girl makes a face at me as I walk out
She knows what I did in there
Some dirty bodily function
And no amount of shiny bric-a-brac I purchase from her
Can wipe away her memory of the truth

That people only talk to her when they need to buy gifts
And not real gifts at all
But things to cover up something
Pain, forgetfulness, guilt or absence
And gift shop girl is accomplice to everything

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

One Red Feather

Fluttering and strutting
Spreading feathers for a mate
Each struggling to impress
Showing plumage to attract a date

This one is golden brown
With tail fanned far and wide
With red gale gobble gook hanging from chin
Flapping from side to side

Another takes affront to this display
Spreading his own tail as if to say
"This bitch is mine stay away"
Before charging into the fray

The males they all strut
The females all watch
Evaluating and calculating
Not overly impressed much

As the day progresses on
The fowl pair off regularily
Leaving the arena of love
To get a mortgage and start a family

Until only two are left at the end of the day
A male who walks with a limp
And has but one red feather in his tail to display
But still he tries to strut and express though he really is a gimp

The one female left waiting
Is an odd one as fowls go
With derpy droopy eyes looking every which way
And feet with odd numbered toes

Eventually Derpy gives in to Gimpy's lame performance
And off they go to mate
Proving the old bar hook-up adage
That everyone's standards drop lower the longer that you wait


Breasts are so very nice
Boobs are worth a lick or two
Tits I nibble on thrice
All an infantile obsession it's true
Don't take it personal love
They're still an extension of you

Monday, August 12, 2013

Balanced - Indian Motorcycle Entry #21

My feet bounced lightly upon the leather seat
Knees flexing in time with the light jouncing
Arms out for balance
And waving to the crowd

I made a leisurely 20 mph pass
While standing up on the seat of my Indian Scout

The announcer excitedly jabbered his pitch as I went by

"Ladies and gentlemen look at that!
The balance and poise of the new Scout model is unparalleled!
This man could be standing on the corner having a cigarette by the looks of him up there!"

All a day in the life
On the Indian 1927 New Model Tour

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Valley Beavers

The cable's out
And I can't see why
It won't come back on
No matter what tricks I try

I've turned the modem off and on again
Then unjacked the cable for a minute or two
To dissipate all the static electricity you know
If you believe all that crap they usually tell you

There is continuity all the way to the pole
I used my multimeter with extra long jumper wires
So that if they tell me it's got to be on my end
I can without reservation call them liars

Now I'm chasing the line down the line
On a miniature set of zip line grips
Going from pole to pole to the junction
Suspending in a harness from my hips

Then I see it up straight ahead
A pole is on it's side like it's dead
Some movement catches my eye at it's jagged base
I hit the release button and land lightly rolling in place

Now all is still
Not a creature is stirring as I scan for the issue
When suddenly the entire downed pole starts sliding into the bushes!

I leap twenty feet
Or maybe half a mile
Landing like a cat
With a Cheshire smile

Now riding atop the moving pole
Barely making out the blurry movement responsible
Brown heaving pelts at the far end
Unsure with what creature I would contend

A flash of buck teeth gave me all that I would need
To turn on my heel and flee with great speed
'Tis no mystery now what felled the cable internet pole
It was the dastardly McClannagh Beaver clan's incessant greed
Driving them to steal treated wood on the whole
Dragging them into the nearby valley en masse
Damming the Throrush River their ultimate goal

Now knowing what I was up against I called for reinforcements
This would require agents with special endorsements
Specialized tools and supplies
To carry over the rise

And thus into the deep Valley of the McClannagh Beaver

Fountain of Youth - Indian Motorcycle Entry #20

Criss crossing the slender finger of a state
Okeechobee and Sometime Hole
Searching for an elusive body of water
That storied Fountain of Youth

Only to bathe in
Never to drink
I've read the comics
So I know what you think

That I'm crazy

But it's not crazy I insist
It is but a quest
Upon an iron steed
An Indian Chief (which are the best!)

Even if I never find it
I'll die a happy man
For the joy is in the searching
Of riding across this fair land

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Wonkabike - Indian Motorcycle Entry #19

A hyper real dream in marshmallow cream
Fluffed into shape spouting cotton candy steam
With licorice seat for whipped nugat bum
Candy coated chocolate engine
Thrum thrum thrum

Speeding along caramel coated highways
Screeing upon chopped peanut shoulders
In a hurry to deliver under the sun's hot rays
Tucked away in the fruit leather saddlebags like two boulders

When you need a treat in a hurry
Call Fleet Feet Indian Sweet Treat

We won't let you down

Friday, August 9, 2013

Youth - Indian Motorcycle Entry #18

Eager young hand upon eager sprung throttle
Bouncing up and down upon the sprung leather seat
Feet that don't reach the floorboards dangle
Scrabbling for purchase upon the engine cases

"Vroom, vroom, vroom!"
Noises come out of a small face
Almost unable to peer over the large headlight nacelle

Dreaming Indian daydreams
Roaring across open plains
Breaching time and space

Thursday, August 8, 2013

The Painter - Indian Motorcycle Entry #17

Indian Red poured out of the spray gun in atomized finery
Coating the primered surface in wafer thin layers
In a pattern known only to the operator
On and off in a mechanical motion
A constant distance from the target
The paint booth lights reflected off the still wet colored metal
A perfect fun house reflection of what was in front of it
Showing a man in white Tyvek and respirator mask
Long grey beard hanging out the bottom
Eyes stroking the metal hours before his fingers will be able to

Ballerina Spiderman

Spiderman poked his red colored head up out of the rooftop access hatch
Peering around with large white sightless eyes
Mask stretched tight against his face

One could make out a smile spreading under the cloth

Spiderman sprang straight up out of the hatch
Landing on the roof in a pose of readiness
With gloved fingers ruffling the pink tutu around his waist
Which was all that he was wearing
Except for the mask

Across his naked chest a black strap ran
Holding a quiver of arrows upon his back
Though curiously lacking any evidence of a bow

What could the webbed wonder be up to on this moonlit night
Dressed in such a way

Before any such questions could be verbalized or answered
Spidey flexed his nude legs and flicked a wrist
Spraying a web two buildings over
And leaping from the rooftop
Swinging in signature style
Pink tutu fluttering in the breeze
Naked muscular bum peering out from underneath

Off to save the city

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Crash - Indian Motorcycle Entry #16

The smell of the rock permeated me
It was all I could think about
As the dust mixed with blood
Forming a brown paste that stuck to whatever it touched

I raised up my head
Spying my motorcycle ten feet away
On it's side
Fuel dripping from the vent in the cap
Making a wet spot in the gravel shoulder of the highway

I climbed slowly to my feet
Wiping the brown paste from my face with my arm

Grasping the handlebars and heaving the bike upright
Revealing cruel dents and scratches to match my own
The still shiny chrome Indian script emblem now bent
Following the new contour it had gained

I kicked out the kickstand
Leaned it's bulk into it
And walked around the machine
Taking mental note of everything I saw

Not as bad as I'd thought all things considered

Looking back
There was no dead coyote anywhere to be seen
Which I had mixed feelings about
Seeing the consequences of the low side slide upon man and machine

I decided that I had gotten the worst of it most likely
And thew a leg over the thick leather saddle
Wiggling all the controls
Finding the front brake lever a couple inches shorter than it used to be
But otherwise nothing amiss

Thumbing the starter
The engine sprang to life
In it's usual orchestra of mechanical violence

I adjusted the mirrors
Grimacing at the image that was projected back at me

My sister was going to be pissed when I showed up for her wedding looking like this

Indian Motorcycle Entry #15

A cheering crowd looking at a fish in a barrel
But there is no water
And the fish is me

I raise my arms in a vaudeville wave
Before stomping on the start lever of my Indian Scout
Fire barking from the exhaust
The crowd going wild

Clacking into first
I motor in a circle
Waving one more time before rolling onto the ramp
Inclining up the sides
A little higher each lap
Until I'm perpendicular with the wall
Riding fast interacting with the crowd
Giving what they paid for

This is the Wall of Death

Monday, August 5, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #14

Just a quarter inch across
Tanned and treated cowhide
Fluttering in the wind
Going for a ride
Attached to a matching saddlebag
With a matching mate on the other side
Snugged close to skirted fender
Colored Indian Red with pride

Right hand twists
Butterfly opens wide
Barking exhaust answers in reply
Whole machine reaching it's stride
Arcing turns and fast straights
Upon this familiar road it plied

Further and further this Indian roamed
Up over and out across the great divide

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #13

"I'll cover you"
Quoth dust to steel
Though steel stood silent
For it had yet to feel

Be it dust rain or mud
Steel stood silently strong
Immune to the elements
And it was seldom wrong

Until a little crack in it's persona
Let in a tendril of doubt
Causing blistering brown-ness
The beginnings of rusting out

Even then it put on a good face
Not letting on
Staying strong in the race
Anything else a disgrace

To the chrome emblematic script it rolled beneath

Friday, August 2, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #12

I am the god of internal combustion
I command you to make an engine
A V angled twin at 49 degrees
It shall be beautiful

And it was so

I am the god of structure
I command you to make a frame and suspension
One to be rigid
The other to flex
In just the right ways

And it was so

I am the god of sheetmetal
I command you to craft beautifully
Making fenders and tank

And it was so

It shall be called INDIAN

And it was so

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #11

Cold into the intake
Both airy and atomized wet
Closed off and compressed
Detonated in high powered spark
Driving piston down
Pushing crankshaft round
Driving precision cut gear sets
Rotating rear tire
Putting power to the ground

Otto cycle combustion in four part harmony
Operating out of two towering cylinders
Beneath the reservoir of fuel
Decorated in this town's well known title
Celebrating it's one hundred twelfth anniversary


Wide Brimmed Camouflage Stetson Cowboy Hat

A foul wind blew in from the South
Bringing the stench of the bog
Of dead and rotting things
And, of more importance, taking my hat

The Stetson that my father had given me
Was now flying on the wind like a spinning UFO from a low budget movie
Looking for it's own Area 51 to set down in
Going deeper into the forest accelerating all the way

As it went it became more obscure
The camouflage pattern on the wool fabric blending in with the surroundings
With only the silver buckle on the headband strap flickering in the dimming light as it flew
Until even that had faded from view

I ventured after it
Following it's flight path ever deeper
Soon spying a hat shaped lump
But finding only a rotten log covered in moss

It wouldn't be that easy
This Stetson was one with it's surroundings
With no telling how far it had gone
Before flight had finally failed forcing it's grounding

With the sun setting
I investigated every vague hat shape I saw
Finding next a bee's nest
Full of angry don't bother me bees

Next stumbling upon the odd shaped leafy home of a family of squirrels
Who chittered and chided me for interrupting their supper
Chasing me away in hatless shame
Now unsure if I was still following the path my hat had taken

I'd like to say that next I met a bear
Who had put my hat upon it's head
Instantly becoming a forest celebrity
Full of Stetson cowboy hat confidence

Or that it was hanging upon the stub branch of a tree
Waiting for me to pick it up
After a visit to the forest barber
Who insisted that I take off the hat for the trim

But it seemed to be gone
Never to be seen again
Just one of the many hazards
Of a wide brimmed camouflage Stetson cowboy hat