Dark armies They have arrived monsters under cover of three pieces including tie and a good old book. A great star of light and life still shines far above the darkening land perhaps it waits to pounce at last. They are closing on to the innocent faces of grins and mocking smiles as they take another step too close. Skins ooze with a stranger perfume bellies swollen by decades of self-satisfaction legs wobble under the ignorant mass. Fist of fat fingers in the air almost unable to close they protest and scream at the living who still believe in loving a neighbor. Speaking mighty words twisted into lies of course, only they know the truth that it is others who hide their ugly souls. Under semi human features scarred by their blindness they point accusing cannons and semi-automatics at those in sterilized outfits. Since when must the good die at the hands of such evil, attempting to take over a world surrendered to unavoidable death. Monsters on two varicose infested legs speaking the tongue of tyrants their pleasure in the demise of the gentle multitude. They are here with their vociferous blaspheme speaking in the name of a god they ignore until he too will perish in the realm. One Thousand Feet below One hundred years since they last saw sunlight squatting in the last car of the E train a home made into the castle of meek desires. On an adventure the little ones in their embalmed suits scavenge for a daily pittance a resurrected treasure they will return later if they can recall the signs. Reclined on the stretcher of faded orange hues spotted with what may be crimson polka dots a matriarch holds hands with gasping breaths. Keeping watch for the sake of a past when they could provide for the sustenance of a tribe shadows of lost generations motion in silence. Driven by the language of grunts and groans disheveled into some inorganic mush the mirrors reveal the deep void of empty faces. Perhaps they recollect a humanity deep within as they escaped the apocalypse of a stilled planet there they will stay without hope and only an everlasting death. The last gamble The realm has become a casino it seems a place to play Russian roulette around the buffet of luxury foods and rusty slot machines. High rises everywhere have filled with infinite greed neon lights flicker as if they knew something they too, hesitant to blare even a whisper of joy. Marching into the green deserts of lush meadows they shed armors to omniscient perils to claim with folly unbound an unlikely victory. The house always wins, gun loaded with a weapon certain to reach a soul a senseless gamble indeed to live. Their skins will fall into rotting rags the flesh will follow into a pool of decay stench contagious to the core of these dying hearts. Little did they want to hear that they were sure to lose crushed under the crumbling illusion that they could gamble with the universe and win.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review, as well as other publications.
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