Flametip Riders

last call brass doll
suitcase in hand
howling at empty rafts
fire consumed deck
tickling rain flaked boot lace

frozen slices of polar existence
hanging from great western ship gallows
spinning blind eyes in the technicolor night dream

invisible fury shamanic invocations
floating in a dark lonely bottle
seven chakras forty oms
military mantras blazing drones

starboard we toss the captain’s hindquarters
aging skeleton maps drawn by green phantom winds
lobbing Lucifer’s cold shoulder
as we blind-dive for answers
through frosted airs to the warbling wobble beat wharf

tattoed tugboat arms toss frayed
white flowers and free passes to afterlife’s
comfort lounge