Little Green Men

drawn, light pencil. etched with acid.
"abandon all hope"
with acid.

beating slowly,
behind,
inside the wall,
behind,
slowly.
bright golden flowers of fire,
with black leaves.
thousands of little green men,
little green men with guns.

Sinking into the slow silence,
the grain stumps and stale burns.
The hail lumps and flame turns,
the sail thumps and jail sterns.
Aching memory,
bleached mind echoes the stains,
lives lived too fast.

Lights flicker on the wall,
betraying anger and resentment,
history and defeat.
Aching pain.
They dropped a bomb.
And thousands of little green men.

We have to start somewhere.
Thousands of little green men,
all following the yellow brick road,
following the yellow brick road and carrying guns.
Hey ho the witch is dead.
They dropped a bomb.
The wicked witch is dead.

Small rubber ball,
green and blue and bouncing down the street,
"all the people"
"all the people she'd meet".
Blasted burning,
the wound leaves a pattern,
patterns of light.
Soil and water and fresh blood.
Carved into the heart.
Fresh blood and powdered brass,
shining in it's shell.
The bottom lip.
Smokey mists,
screaming through false night.
Bouncing down the street.

Hey ho, the wicked witch is dead.