Art

Headfirst – Chuck Harp

Jamming pipes between gears,
stopping the presses.
No messages leaking through,
no crucial headlines for the head.
Misery infecting the membrane,
polluting the pools of thought.
The pink goo running loose.
An oil baron drilling to my center
draining what’s left of my brain.
Slowing
down
the synapse
as I
run in
to a syringe.
Autopilot with a burning engine,
decapitating propellers screech to the earth.
My bloodshot eyes popping like balloons
at the personally prepared doom
that’s roasted slowly since seventeen.
Hard to keep track of a runaway train
along the rusty red tracks I’ve laid.
Shriveling cells hush the screams
of warning horns.
No going back on the promise
between the devil and the fiend.
Feel the pinch
proceed to push the plunger,
leave the head for empty space.