the DICKS
the Dicks with bad tickers
In seats of power
Light stacks of hundreds on fire
With their exploding fart trick
the Dick
of now
unloads b
r
s t into his buddies
i d ho
to scare his enemies!
the "tricky" Dick
of old
set this whole game of Dicks in motion
a bull bodied DICK
in a seat of power
can make Cambodians cry
those DICKS!
hanging us out to dry
© Steven Hammond
Snapshots Destined for Print
Lipstick boys don't need talk shows
when there's Sunday service.
Steeple staring cutters, crying
in the rain
While the Voice dreams of shemales
and red bull.
Quirky receptionists simultaneously shit
themselves
in a rapture we could never achieve.
Purpose drives these people.
Bodies in threes thrown
Across the wet grass covered,
Everything in guck and neck braces.
So, we huff gasoline and watch
Transcending
above our bodies, this mess,
avoiding the shakes
the panic.
Led out, bound
Hands behind our backs
With the thick dry rope
Running, wrapped around our necks.
The river is laughing in its calm.
Cow heads bob across the water.
The wind picks up and delivers with it
the stench of death.
I'm on my way.
The small boat rocks as I'm shoved
aboard, but the woman at the helm is still.
My knees buckle as I'm hit once again;
this time I fall.
Before my eyes forever close
they well-up with tears, but I
look past the mouth of combat green and
into the heart of the cloudless sky.
© Steven Hammond
Gun Crusher
Gun Crusher says,
"I got something for you cowboy."
Biting down liberally
with rusty jaws.
The torso spouting cowboy
grit and innards.
Gun Crusher don't
puke or give away nothing.
Just takes.
Constructed of metal,
Gun Crusher waits.
As we're fucked under
the setting sun
rusted Gun Crusher grin
behind our backs
when the deed is done.
© Steven Hammond
