A little morbid sci fi

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011 Under: Poetry

Protocolossus island
on the underside of an iron probiscus
on the planet Titus

Crow-faced pilgrims crossed a bridge
to hallowed ground, a passage
built into the colonies the next world
that revealed what was concealed
in molten rhubarb palace formations
"Does life dream of life after a dream?"
dark connoisseurs
march soundly down the coven halls
    tectonic knights
of protoplasmic light
in zirconium moon suits
"Is this a medley of space time?"

steeped in virulent heat,
where the minestrone hued cannonades sleep
as silent as machinery can possibly be
as all breeds of agile despots prey
on the prostrate, fuming town center

Bode them well, for they are mongrels
as they crusade
to the infested command centers
suspended with the hanging cities
to let their heel bones adapt
to the density freeze of the night air

Time is a black expressway
devoid of high end placards
and solar streetlights

The future is a gray pit of
gargoyle bile,
asparagus guts -

"My outlook on the world is dismal, isn't it?"

In : Poetry 

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