A Poem For No One

On demand for no one
inflatable words cower in the alleys of the mind
They wait to be summoned - but no longer required
Their Maker is on safari
Every once in a blue death
a poem is commissioned
Tho the earthly kings are perished
a Subterranean Lot still drink till the dawn
Dreams unfinished, paths unwed
Blue demons really, breathless and spiteful and driven
Each year a stanza in the book of life
Fear The Prophet that comes forward unslain
before the work is finished
Do not trust his dying breath
For each gasp is a broken chain of words
a nonsensical bit of trivia enciphered to expire
on the deathbed of revelation
a trap designed to ensnare those seeking import
All to be forgotten
All to be eulogized before anonymous headstones
in the backyard of a tornado-stricken Sunday
Curses be spoken to blue herons
A field of feathers and broken necks
Walk the scene
Inspect its perimeter when the sun has fallen
(our private blue hour)
Survivors limp and flutter before The Collector
as he seeks his words afresh
Thru the night offtune songs in tangled woods
A place where even zombies pay heed to no trespassing signs
Thumbs tango in front of campfire
Words come out
Vomit
The drink is potent
The rhymes are serious
The audience insane but versed
in the ways of talk
Be good to these veteran listeners
They pay your way through the eternal night
For we have already passed through
to that new era
Clothes ragged on jaggedy bones
Wading forward thru waist high beach foam
Merry songs come to mind
and we all sing them, you and I
until the low tide leaves us dry and high
as spit in the beaks of gulls
Did I tell you that I wrote a poem for no one?
Committed to no paper or screen
My poetry shacks up behind the mask of the puppeteer
like an infestation of demons
expecting no relief