The Killing Floor by Jim Chandler

 

 

they drew him out
to the killing floor
overcame new strength
bred by the
smell of blood
& death

eyes walled round
like mad moons
he foamed & fought
against the ropes
& men laughed
in bloody roars
making sport of
his final moment
of horrid wonder

wretched & cold
on stained concrete
with the evil smell
parting curtains in
his shattering mind

he had no logic
to brace for
the blow
swung in simple
hard arc
the sledge
coming round like
a freight
in the wind
on bending tracks
& finding bone
between his eyes

vibrating his world
like the time
he ran
into a tree
playing across
the field
young & dumb
before he knew
his fate to come
before he saw
the others go
one by one
up the ramps
& away forever
before he
smelled red stench
in the wind

collapsed down now
on front joints
as visions swam
behind his eyes
he remembered
the tug of
his mother’s teat
& romps in
baby green
the nudge
of noses
against him

now on& on
riding the breeze
of blowing black
swirling mystery revealed
in flashing lights
the spell gone
around the walls
of nothingness
just the sweet drop
to sharp steel
and the caress
of mother oblivion

long & soft
lasting forever

America’s birthday by Jim Chandler

and I’m cowboying shots
of Kentucky blend
inside under the AC

windbags too worn
for the porch
or drowning in humidity
under God’s blue
skies

coming upon that year
of numerical percision
birth wise
that beast w/two back
inverted

the land of lore for
the nimble young
a position still pursued
by the oldster
drunk

glance at the clock
tells me it’s
don’t-give-a-fuck time
but then that’s
par for the course

it’s been so long
since I gave a fuck
I’ve forgotten what I
last gave a fuck
about

or maybe I never ever gave a fuck

to begin with

____________

(first appeared at the dead mule)