An alcoholic preacher ran the
stop sign.
He moved the wheels forward with shot gun legs.
The faint glow of red light
shimmered by his peripherals.
We’ve got lanterns to guide you through that minefield.
He said through reclining eyes into his rosary:
“I picked you out of 5 in a dollar store,
the most you could do is say
thank you.”
The life-eggs were rolling down the street.
He needed to fill his quota on souls received.
We’ve got lanterns to guide you through that minefield.
When asked by the
black and white knight
why his temple floor became a liquid,
His aged eyes took on the form of ticks
seeing only inward. Out of that infinite came:
“I was told we’ve got lanterns to guide you through that minefield.”
Written by Andre Bourlin