(Mayhem In The Midwest)

He was hard as nails
with an anatomically correct reproduction
of the circulatory system built
into the tip of his tongue. He
spit bricks, pissed concrete, had a lisp
and wasn't very good with subtlety.
The kid had intensity in spades
and the chrome bones to back it up with
-used to melt his ribs
into counterfeit nickels and dimes,
doing what he had to just to get by.

After he got arrested, got off,
then got off on getting arrested,
he started growing railroad tracks
from his fists like brass knuckles,
looking to prove
how he was real trouble, not the
small-town-meth-lab-junkie-dealer kind
they wrote him him up as.
He could do more than a chemical explosion
that tore up a kid with
pavement knees and halos in his wrists
and he was shallow enough to prove it.

Determined to show how he could shoot up a room
just by looking at it,
with bullet eyes and a shotgun smile,
he built the trigger into his ego
so when he felt good, everybody would know it.
"I'm going on automatic," he howled to the cloud-tanked town,
walking outside and feeling proud.

(Authors Note: Here's the first round of quick edits on this piece. There will be more. I'm playing around with a few things and might do some actual rewriting to make it a little less prosaic. I really like it, it's just not quite right yet.)

(Last Edit: 3.7.08)