Marching Drum of the Chambers

In here
on the other side of the phlegm coils
fresh air is stalled,
buffered by isolation
and clipped on sterile steel.
Sanctuary of the horned
in pretty gulags,
severed from beating sun,
kept beyond the reach of nature.
No sand to swallow heels
or rivers to speak of,
forget estuaries and rugged coasts
here lies dead ends.
No tree bark to scuff
the finger pads,
no dew on webby toes.
Brain lost in hazy halls of solitude
where hair is all that grows;
dreams and breath,
deserved of nothing more
in a dungeon sink hole...

@Steven Francis popems 2009

Melody Druid

The past
Dreamcast,
in electric pastures
of Japanese echo ballads
and tendon pickled daydreams.
God of mandolin
scuff along the scarlet hills
of Shenmue,
of revenge.
Gun
kick,
magic
bomb;
a logo
praise ghost stamp!
Killer of all
band legged cartoon print...

@Steven Francis Poems 2009

Welcome To Dust

The chapters are open
peel away now
skin from eager tongue,
let loose stories and hymns,
ballads of the dead
and crooked.
Bone,
water
flow molten saliva
from a gentle cheek...

23rd October 2009

Steven Francis