Deeds of the Anthill
Submarines with wings and monkeys that sing
Laugh at the rules of the game
The box wasn’t bigger, it just had a light trigger
And never did bother with names
Schools of eight landmines and nature will plant signs
To make you just quake in your chair
But the truth is a story that only will bore he
Who flogs himself just to prepare
The deeds of the anthill are written by hand quills
That gaze at old days in the dark
“We’re human gods now, it’s only right anyhow
To think we’ve been blessed with the spark”
The hammer will rise right before their eyes
And float up beyond the clouds
The nail that sticks up will be interrupted
By gavels that silence the proud
“Death to all tyrants,” he screams, and you buy it
Making a splash with your toe
You won’t go all in but you hate all the sin
That disturbs what you already know
The mothers create you but Satan debates you
In rooms of cold ivy green
You make all this noise to be all but poised
To lose what you now have seen
The shimmering light shows the crater-sized bite
That doctors said once pumped your blood
It’s glazed by the rain until charity wanes
And dries your name into some mud
The train at the station hasn’t felt much elation
For chasing its own steel tail
The conductor he booms, “If you die too soon
Someone must pick up the trail”
The nods of the shack have covered their tracks
And colluded with phantom goodbyes
The senate of sadness exonerates madness
And mails you all of their whys
The faces of poison make their choices on
Whims of wind and woe
The counts of the hour hold all the power
And haunt you with nowhere to go
Man With an Ark of Gold
Out there on the street is a man with a shuffled walk
You’ll get him to speak, but you won’t get him to talk
There’s fraudulence in the air, he’s breathing in vanity
The rich charge for their stares, the poor get them for free
Newspapers in his socks, he schleps to the capitol
Pulling like an ox, a gleaming ark of gold
The only fool to gaze inside died mysteriously
The man ruled it a suicide, said it happened naturally
The wicked king flashed a roguish smile, said, “I’m glad you could make it, bum
We’ll take that chest off of your hands and pay you a handsome sum
We got wine, women, fine living, all of it is yours to own”
The man mulled it over, shivering, said, “I’d like your throne”
“Did I hear that right, you tramp?” the king scoffed, eating his grapes,
“Was that your little plan when you marched in here with that crate?
I’m God-ordained, you filthy fool, your life is in my hands
So leave my sight, eat your gruel, one day you’ll understand”
The hobo turned to leave, a glimmer in his eye
“You better watch your teeth,” he said, “Wisdom you just can’t buy
Solomon you’re not, my lord, what lurks inside that chest
Is a lesson you can’t afford and only I know best”
“Who are you, some prophet? Piss running down your leg
Whatever’s in there, I doubt it has helped you in any way
It killed a kid, it killed a cow, that don’t mean much to me
Don’t need the why, just need the how for immortality”
“Suit yourself,” said the ragged misfit, “I ain’t known for tall tales
You can want something without wanting it, with your need cloaked in a veil
I’ll leave you be, your majesty, to bask in your priestly pride
You’ll eat your words and think of me when you look inside”
The creature gone, the rankled king instructed his men to lift
The ark of gold, the only thing he demanded as a gift
But when they tapped the box of jacks, they dropped dead on the spot
The king grunted, “That old hack is crazier than I thought”
Inspecting the scene of the crime, his ego on the fingerprints
Shrugging, he said, “That’s fine, wear gloves to open the lid”
The last guard, quivering hard, reached out an Adam hand
He made it further than far, removed the top as planned
The king jumped back, deathly pale, disbelieving the thing in there
The servant hurled, growing frail, fixed in a ghastly stare
The treasure enclosed had fingers and toes, ear-to-ear lifeless frown
Crying, the king started, slow, “My son they never found!”
The gimp returned with a knowing grin, “What have you learned, my slave?”
The choking king, trembling chin, said, “Some men are truly depraved
You give them life and you let them pray and they’ll still make Hell anew”
“No,” said God, grave, “Sin comes back to you”
Outside Looking Out
Painting daggers on the velvet
Buried too high in the ground
Most of the time I cannot help it
I’m too confused to turn around
I hang from lemon trees of fire
And sing in caverns filled with glass
There’s no way that I can buy her
I can’t afford to even ask
Giving passports to the marksmen
Doing circles in a line
Making stones out of a carving
Writing prose in seven rhymes
Piling on the plastic cables
Severing the spider’s web
I’ll make a door out of a table
And hope the key is always fed
I’ll fish for birds and hunt for costumes
That fit me like they fit the sea
The past of bronze is just an heirloom
That shows its worth by vanishing
I talk through ears and see the sounding
Of bullets on an island’s beach
And though the sun may be surrounding
I never feel its desperate reach
Saloon Bedlam
Through that door lies a dead bartender
Worms crawl through his skull
Scene of gore was a brutal bender
Story left untold
Sheriff groans, “Shoulda sold water
Never killed no one
Jeezus, Mick, ain’t that your father?
That, or you’re his son”
Mick cried out, “What a rotten, cruel town
No one better leave
How many kegs did the killer down?
My old man must’ve sneezed”
Then came in the town’s only seamstress,
“Happy hour must be late”
Hand in mouth, she surveyed the big mess,
“No stitching that brain”
Closet reeks, out steps a mustache
Pants drop like a brick,
“How long was I gone? Montezuma’s wrath
Made it not be so quick”
Mick buts in, “Listen, you cretins
‘Nuff tomfoolery
Next man talks will get a beatin’
Who killed my daddy?”
Big bouffant raises her pale arm
“Can I speculate?
Culprits did your man that harm
‘Cause his booze ain’t great”
Merlin coughs, “Why coat the truth?
Bet it was the priest
Father saw this debauched booth
Said, ‘God likes them the least’”
Joker laughs, “May I ask a question?
Clap with just one hand
Whoever can need no confession
No doubt that’s your man”
Sheriff shoots a round of blanks
“Come out now, or else
It’s June the first, no time for pranks
I’ll find him by myself”
Then trots in the town’s prized stallion
Room exchanges stares
Horse rears back and speaks Italian,
“What is this nightmare?”
Deaf man starts to play sonatas
At the beer-stained keys
He’s declared persona non grata
As they whack his knees
Fight breaks out when a bored drunkard
Throws a careless punch
Safety’s fine, but blood’s preferred
Several lose their lunch
Baker hears the rowdy carnage
Echo down the street
Blood to him is the perfect garnish
Too bad he sells wheat
Trumpets plays as a desperado
Breaks down both the doors
Curses come in a fast staccato,
“What you frame me for?”
Sheriff trips on a small stray stool,
“Get back in your cuffs
Only I can break the rules
I’ve had about enough”
Short Round squeaks in the dusty corner,
“I feel kind of sick
No one’s guessed but we’re getting warmer
Killer rhymes with ‘dick’”
“Hold your stags,” yells Mick with fury,
“I’m no Oedipus
We’ll set things straight, I’m in no hurry
First I’ve gotta piss”
“Kid is right,” says the smarting deaf man,
“I heard you plan the deed
All you dolts look at his hand
It shakes just like a leaf”
Sheriff, Merlin, bouffant, raider
Jaws fall off their face
Mustache, baker, joker, tailor
Freeze up in one place
Mick says, “Wait, don’t be so mad
Next round is on me
Greatest trick the devil ever had
Was knowing when to flee”
Stranded in Eden
It’s only natural to think unnaturally
It’s only peaceable to think so violently
It’s only obedient to think that you’re so free
It’s only convenient for eyes that just can’t see
In the distant schoolyards, they teach you to unlearn
Say, “No one holds the cards, and fire doesn’t burn”
Follow laws we don’t make, and make ones we don’t need
Everyone’s on the take and greedy for their greed
Stranded in Eden
Branded without meaning
Arriving without leaving
Tithing without believing
Ground Zero, they steal your shoes and force you to repeat
The only way to lose is to stand on both your feet
The slide’s a staircase, the path a metal wall
No use in holding an ace when you have no bluff to call
The bright medallions hang in sewer homes
And the slightly shallow men meet someone alone
And the pay is above a life, and they feed you with a gun
Until the dogs bite and treat you as a son
Stranded in Eden
Branded without meaning
Arriving without leaving
Tithing without believing
Clock speaks, Genesis rushes from the end
Touch peaks, cotton fists force you to pretend
Down on the crimson moon, a soldier walks along
Crying a happy tune, he shoots up a song
Clutching the holy grail, you die before you drink
Staggering to the guardrail, your face turns hot pink
Should’ve lived before you lived, should’ve read between the space
Should’ve saved your soul to give instead of saving face
Stranded in Eden
Branded without meaning
Arriving without leaving
Tithing without believing
Colin Frier is a junior majoring in English at Drake University. After school, he hopes to do something with music, but if that doesn’t keep the wolf from the door, he’ll probably end up as a busboy at Applebee’s, a renunciate monk in Tibet, or one of those intrepid roadside human directional guys. This collection of poems is dedicated to his mom, without whose silence this never would have been written.