Pig Iron

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I will serve you well

but please be patient with me,

take great care because I’m brittle.

Have your finest blacksmith

forge me with precision, fold and fold

until I hold an edge that slices through armor

Like a scythe through long grass,

I am purpose-built.

Then have craftsmen

pour their hearts out

ornamenting, doting on and refining me

so that I’m form meets function.

I’m impure, but that’s not to say

that I’m not worth it.

The discipline it took to make me pales in comparison

to what it takes to wield me.

Keep me polished, oiled and sharpened.

Hold me tight,

and swing lightly,

I will do the rest.

When you sleep,

keep me on the wall,

so no harm comes to me.

If you bring me with you,

young samurai,

keep me sheathed

unless I’m absolutely needed,

so I can’t harm a soul.

Keep me safe,

and I’ll do the same.

I’m a little rough around the edges,

but if you’re looking for a fine sword,

I will serve you well.

The Cutting Room Floor

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It’s hard to make it

in showbiz.

Much like the lottery,

No matter how many years

you spend toiling in development hell,

only a handful of those that play the game

see the happy ending

they dream of,

we pray for them.

Snippets, interludes, quips and storyboards

lie strewn about.

Half-baked,

deformed,

distorted,

deleted scenes

hold interstitial once deemed vital,

now unviable.

All seemed like great ideas at the time,

but quickly end up dated,

after production fumbles,

mumbles of delays

fill the air,

and stall all progress-

we pray for them.

These poor shades,

pray for a green light,

but all they find is red tape.

The business works in mysterious ways.

It’s harder for a camel

To pass through the eye of a needle

Than a rich man to enter heaven-

The higher-ups could stand to get a little thinner,

Yet they’re the ones,

Asking everyone else to cut down.

Some day,

They may see release,

Or at least the light of day,

I pray for them.

Whale Watching

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“Ready?”

Take a deep breath,

you’ll want to make it last.

We all traversed the undercurrents,

and took shots in the dark.

The sharks played chicken with us,

though there’s safety in numbers,

we didn’t need the hassle

so we went fishing.

We grabbed a bite to eat

And did some networking,

with a few like-minded pods.

“Let’s take a break”

in the tropics,

we met the locals

the coral shimmered in the choppy light

coming through

crystal-clear water.

“Let’s make waves by the bay,”

Anchored boats watched

as half of us

caused a ruckus

and the rest lazed by,

until we saw Sailors’ Delight.

“Let’s get going,”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll have my people call your people,”

“listen for our code.”

Fond farewells

echo in the distance

as they await

another day.

Reflections From the Wind Tunnel

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The abyss looked through me,

and I had no answers for it.

But I couldn’t just walk away,

avert my gaze,

throw my hands up

and call it quits.

“Assert yourself,”

I commanded,

The wind caught my words

as they left my lips,

and sent them somewhere

No one could hear.

There was only so much I could stand,

So I marched again,

and I marched again,

I marched until I was beaten back

to where I started.

The Ravens croaked above

coasting on rising thermals,

and they looked down on me

holding still.

Someday I’ll be airworthy.

Today the abyss looked back at me,

And I’ll look back on the abyss fondly,

For all it taught me.

Tuatara

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I’m from an ancient bloodline,

patient and pensive,

and to my surprise,

time flies,

regardless of whether or not

you’re having fun.

Everyone I related to

left long ago,

and all that remains

are these fraud lizards,

with my third eye,

I see right through them.

Meanwhile,

here I am,

in exile,

under a rock.

I’m from an ancient bloodline,

strong and tenacious,

I spend my days digging trenches,

eating spiders

and hissing at tourists,

what a complete indignity.

My ancestors,

walked shoulder-to-shoulder

with giants and beasts,

now that there’s finally some room to breathe,

It seems there’s less space for us than ever.

I’m from an ancient bloodline

peaceful and wise,

and for old times sake,

I’d like to revisit the Halcyon days,

and have the sun blocked out once more,

an equal playing field.

Trust me on this,

the world needs it.

ERROR 404: NOT FOUND

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Please erase me.

Take me across the bridge

to nowhere,

and watch me fade away,

erase me.

Nowhere, I’d rather be

lost in the fog,

cloaked in grey,

wandering down the winding-path

into obscurity,

please erase me.

It’s not enough to be

far away.

It’s not enough to be

covered up.

It’s not enough to be

crossed out.

Please, please

erase me.

Mimivirus

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One-track minded

parasite zombie

ceaselessly wandering-

a quest

for it’s first and final victim.

A connection is made,

and mimivirus loses a part of itself,

to its gracious,

blissfully ignorant amoeba host,

and all seems well.

Yet time drags on,

as it always does,

and new beginnings

take shape.

Their union,

which seemed to be

the start of a beautiful relationship,

evolves into a

one-sided,

ruthlessly efficient,

hostile takeover.

The host

works tirelessly

to support the demands of its

new partner,

specified in its ancient tome-

it’s lengthy genome.

Exhausted

from the hard work of transcribing

the words dictated to it,

by a steady stream of multiplying messengers,

the host,

burns out, falls down,

and breaks open,

it has nothing left to give them.

The host bequeaths unto it’s amoeba brother’s and sister’s,

A horde

of eager virions

ready to march,

leave their marks,

and begin their life’s work.

Their parent would be proud,

of the legacy of destruction,

their progeny

will leave.