“He doesn’t like you.”
The lightsaber cuts swiftly
A disarming scene

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Dangerous days lie ahead, O friends
In this city of magic and smiles
I see many ways your paths may end
But still, tarry here for awhile

Among you there is a child of gold
Beloved of one who does stalk
You’re but a key to be controlled
For a treasure untold to unlock

Another will find that what they have lost
Is really still theirs to find
But then they must ask, is it worth the cost
When the truth will lay bare their mind

The last will have truth knocked out from below
Like a hangman removing a stool
They must then decide if the reality they know
Is worth bearing a past that is cruel

A welcome I sound to the Witch Queen’s town
To all of you entering here
I hope that you all find here fame and renown
And lose nothing you hold too dear

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He cradled the homemade shotgun.
The barrel a stolen pipe.
The stock a stump he carved.
Gunpowder stolen a pinch at a time
Unraveled from blasting wire
Stolen from a mine.
There were only fifteen rhinos
In the whole park, the whole nation.
Odds were not in his favor.
But a single kill, a sawn-off horn
Would feed him, his family, a month.
Powder, foreign rich men’s medicine.
Handles, for foreign rich men’s daggers.
He didn’t care, the money was real.
His family was real.
Crouched there, in the dark
He put his family before the beasts
Rooting around on the brink.
How many men does it take
Making the same decision
To consign that species
To the history books.

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My spellcraft was such
That they were turned
Instantly
To stone

They sit there, now
Unmoving and still
Do they
Dream
In
The
Marble

Or is it like death
Body a husk, spirit
Departed
For we
Know
Not
Where

I do not know which
Comforts me more
Kindly dreams
Deathly dreams
Or the
Sweet
Oblivion
Of
Long
Ago
Murder

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Springtime is singtime
but
Seedtime is weedtime

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Why happens when we
bump against a mechanical dustbin
the one that contains everything we’ve
ever thrown out as useless
The instructions read like
they were assembled by an electorate
maddened against a sinister they
can’t grasp
Before this
the domestic likelihood of finding a
lasting mate
A machine
Safe brains miss the obsolete
even as they
practice an Occam’s of pragmatic
worth
The old rockets into the trash
another prospective razor held against it
the simplest is the best
Beneath whatever abstract speculations
what we discard
lies unwelcome
its service forgotten
entombment
in earth
its only
fate

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Lone parking lot beer
Unlike those who cut it loose
It’s never been drunk

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