two

[rian101]

winter dreams, charcoal shore



limbs - legs, arms,
even the torso -
are useless when drowning;
always remember that. beneath the waves,
beneath the surface
pulled bottom-ward muck,
i am a mannequin
born to be weighted w/ stones;
i can see the shores,
charcoal gray,
ash,
even the sky (though it hardly matters)
the sky is filled w/ clouds,
an army's array of clouds, familiar
news bulletin reruns
we used to watch as children;
Allied Forces have struck deep
into the heart of Germany
pounded by bombers and infantry.
all those airplanes crowding a sunset sky,
clouds from my perspective.
but it hardly matters,
terribly sorry,
mother, i've been a bother of a son,
you'll have another story to tell
when you've found my paperweight body.

*ahem* Lore....

Lore, plutonium firecracker



"COMRADE!
GET YO' LUFTWAFTE ON!"
she screams @ the telephone,
"SPUTNIK SEVEN IS
THE
SALVATION OF MANKIND!"

my ear-drums have burst
but she's still going at it,
faithfully pounding the static-bursts.
she's got this thing
for East Germany
or West,
or maybe Both,
United?
or not.
two is better than one.

Soviet Bloc?
yeah,
that, too;
she'd hump Josef Stalin
if he was still around;
tyrant or not,
she'd grab him by the ears.

i have to keep telling her,
NO!
you can't dig up his skeleton
+ keep Stalin in your closet.
we just don't do things like that.