The Toe Cutter

Australia, Post-Apocalypse


Blacktop: it runneth over;

The speed ploys of art.

Hauled over quickly,

I need to put verses,

Short-lived—but faster—

Far, inside, enough—

Peeling the air—as

Revved-up afterthoughts

To them.


The Outback: it’s here; we

Absorb the land—

Or lack…; put her against

The post. A mannequin’s face,

Peppered with buckshot.


“We have a problem here.

She is not what she seems.

She is sent by the Bronze—

Full of treachery.”


So coos the darker shade

Of his mission, come full circle,

In the Night Rider’s pledge;

The eyes of many mad faces tracing

Back to where he shares his bed.



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