Monday, June 21, 2010

Boondoggle Man

The Boondoggle man walks.
Black, tar, sticky streets.
Like flypaper to the shoe.

Attracting worms, maggots, roaches.
Kin to its heart;
Blood relatives.

The Boondoggle man;
Pale face, blue eyelids
Grey – Mohawk – hair.

A smile made out of ashen twigs,
A heart fished from the river Styx.
A laugh, short, bitter and long.

The Boondoggle man waits.
Until the still, moonless night.
Where all is quiet;

Except your racing heart.
Something follows –
And you know it.

Around every corner.
Pausing just long enough -
For you to know it’s still there.

The terror builds.
Like a screaming in your mind.
Run, fall, curl up in a ball.

The Boondoggle Man – drinks.

K.J.K.  – 06-21-10