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Bring back duels?
Are hotheads more humane
than industrial justice?  Designate
chaos as environment, never as tool.
Sometimes a penis is just a cigar,
mostly burned, mostly ash.
Blacksoul Nightfriend, coin is a con.
Walk loudly to flush a neighbor from hiding.
Bring me Atchafalaya artifacts, sodden,
open imbroglio, and stand in noonlight
smelling of lavender and leather,
pronouncing the extinction of the soulosaurs
and the failed devotion of the kid-knappers.
Clumsy?  Come see.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.