Sacred Chickens
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SACRED CHICKENS
Four Poems by Brian Rihlmann BATTLE OF THE BULGE because of vestigial tooth and claw the raised hackles and the roar the avarice, the acquisitiveness that served us well through thousands of forgotten years millions of atrocities swept under the proverbial rug this world will not conform to our foolish images of paradise there’s a mountain of dirt under there bulging the stitches of our carefully woven mandala-- how the roots of trees shatter concrete beautifully as drunken spiderwebs and we, scampering with darning needles trowels in hand CONSPIRACY I’m not sure exactly how or when it happened-- if there was a when... if there was, it wasn’t like a car crash or a sucker punch.... more like the Chinese water torture-- one cold drop at a time bringing slow madness, and now... when the dark seeps in and I walk the streets, everyone becomes a potential terrorist, rapist, murderer or spy everyone’s a mind reader gathering evidence for my ultimate conviction... it’s all bullshit but tell that to the snakes in my belly they just squirm and laugh when I do... and knot themselves tighter-- you ever hear a snake laugh? MEAN LITTLE MUTT when you’ve got a mean little mutt living in your house sometimes you’ve just gotta turn him loose in the yard let him run along the fence let him snarl and snap and bark and howl at every sound and passerby... canine, feline, human or imaginary leave him alone in there and he’ll wreck the place tear up the furniture shit on the rug lock him in a closet and he’ll finally catch that damned tail he’s been after-- he’ll chew it right off MAYBE IT’S A GOOD OMEN as recent events have shoved in our faces what we normally see only in our peripheral vision... today, I took a walk outside despite the wind despite the storm blowing in across the Sierra crest because I saw-- I saw how the white petals on the trees outside were ripe for the plucking and how even without this increasing shadow hovering you don’t get too many days in a year or a lifetime to feel like you’re standing in a giant snow globe but just try to grab them like snowflakes-- I did I tried to catch them my hands were quick but their flight was erratic as a thousand mad butterflies and I missed every...single...one Bio: Brian Rihlmann was born in New Jersey and currently resides in Reno, Nevada. He writes free verse poetry, and has been published in The Blue Nib, The American Journal of Poetry, Cajun Mutt Press, The Rye Whiskey Review, and others. His first poetry collection, “Ordinary Trauma,” (2019) was published by Alien Buddha Press.
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