Napalm Dreams – a poem

Through the forest twists they far sought us,

Huge shooting plumes of orange, red, cinnabarite

Rising flames flare up with crackles distinct of

Scents various brushfire wild, blackened leaves,

Forest plumage burned as the roiling rotors rove,

A hunt begun…


They came for us through the dark sun inky sky,

Creatures with dank face and beetle black eyes,

Wingless things beating air unseen above the canopy,

Loud airborne beasts of horror, savage hale hunters

A’come through drug laced dire opiate ephemeral mists

Foggily storming.


Arcane, the jungle steams rise from unclean rotted piles,

Coarse rain blurred wetness of overgrown leaves fallen,

Muddy wooden mausoleums in which wither shrooms

And the poor hunted run thither, hither, under

The solid lineaments of the maze made madly

To kill by napalm.


Poetkillers, we named you, our hunter and horror;

We are drawn as moths to flame, poets to morbidity,

Things of the hunt to be eaten, coddled for consumption,

The insensible madness of our efforts dryly found

Amidst the rising steam rot, lyrical challenges met

In gasoline blooms.

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