behemoth

there is an island at the sea
floating, almost silently
except for a microscopic change
of sub-aquatic breathing

the city floats upside down
a smile turned into a frown
it drips with smoke of eons past
the buildings they were made to last

now fish and vines and octopi
have made their home in tombs of men
a city of souls, and skulls and bones
of brick, mortar, lonely stones

above surface, a boat does reach
men stumble on hallowed dry land
they dig their spades into the beach
as captain stands and gives a speech

for treasure, glory and rewards
we'll rip this island's sand apart
so dig your spades, lads, in these sands
and dig till you bleed from your hands

a portal opens in the sand
something the men don't understand
they fall and crawl down to their knees
forgive forgive, forgive us please

a skull floats up from that black hole
its grin a leaky, dreary pall
av-e satanas it whispers to them all
as sand crawls up under their skin

they cry and bleed and beg for death
till they're coughing sand with every breath
it grates and burns and stings their skin
sand turns their blood to mud within

the city now has a few more thralls
it sups their life in drowned halls
the sea strips the skin from bones
in the tombs of men, once more alone

---
I had a vision of an upside-down, satanic city, floating at some unknown point in the sea and killing sailors that reach there looking for booty.

gearhead

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.