the rhythm is gonna get you

everyday another drop
every day the bucket gets a bit more full

and everyday the corrosive acid bites into the high-grade steel a little bit more,
and the circus act below watches in desperate awe;
munching on popcorn and peanuts, slurping down icy flat soda. or just standing dumb with mouth agape and head tilted back, craning to view the closest thing to the top of the big top. there almost seemed to be a breeze way up there, but the forked-tongue flag is stiff plastic, and does not rock in the wind.
what an act to behold, though- well worth the price of admission. but no one knew what they were getting at the point of purchase. when will the corrosive acid sear through the increasingly wary bucket, which once seemed to be impenetrable, with its sturdy mottled grey appeal? and will people stick around to watch it? and what will happen if and when the acid does burn through the bucket? What will then be used as a quaint carrying vessel if someone decides to make a bunch of chicken?

the riveted minds of the concerned individuals warped senses of time and space, and some began to sweat profusely while others fell asleep. and yet still more, some became paranoid and crept below the stands where the throngs waited, where they could here clanging cell phone calls giving sordid details of the event at hand.

not even the somewhat wild beasts could maintain the interest of the crowd, as the tigers were ignored to point of even seeming as a distraction to the circus crew, who knew nothing of the reckoning this acid bucket would bring. Unfortunately, no one saw the eventual demise of the bucket, which was swallowed in a fit of panic-laden precision by the liquid fury it once contained.
No one saw it even though all eyes had once been fixed upon it- even those who crept below the stands peeked through the gaps of wood and between the stumps of legs to gather new information every possible second. And those that were asleep, well, when I say asleep, and mean asleep with once eye open. Nothing transfixed people before as did this bucket-o-acid.

But they didn't see the acid eat through the carefully constructed steel bucket with an immaculate carrying handle, because as they were watching this death defying high wire act, the tigers, who had been ignored, went around and ate or partially ate everyone. Yes, everyone.

the end.

growing into

linkletters lately

its an old newspaper that no one reads no more

and theres a lot of hungry people still down by the industry places near the rustling cold water

but the worded paper is of no comfort- it brings no news of the day that relates to the sun rising and falling without a drop of hope directed in industry's shadow

people are gawking at the weeds coming up through the cracks, and massive piles of coal lay like wounded soldiers on battered concrete waiting treatment from the nurse practitioner ship docked nearby in bleakly abundant fashion, like a giant old lion-footed tub wastingly waiting in some country yard, weathering elements for no one, setting perfectly useful yet unused.

on a sunday a driver passes through the area and notices opposite this sight, there are tracks with rusting train cars lined up in silent waiting. nothing is pressing. but the rows and rows of track indicate that perhaps their work is not yet over.