Tuesday, February 14, 2017


blood lubes the gears
that spin, whirl, and twirl
in the brainpan of the man in red
the dude they know as gearhead

stuck in the desert of life
his struggle is never ending
when he's not hunted by his demons
he practices pretending

gearhead walks all day and night
skin burnished and blessed by blight
smoke runs from his ears and eyes
he glares at the settings suns in the skies

his quest takes him to deepest holes
gearhead can take on many roles
the gears spin, they help him think
so low is he, he can't help but drink

he drinks the blood of lost travelers
to keep the gears spinning nice
addicted to roaming, he keeps walking
perhaps, that is his only vice

an image, of a man with gears protruding from his bleeding skull under twin desert suns on a distant planet.

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