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The Modern Sinners: Random Thoughts on a Scene in Downtown Livermore on an Autumn Dusk

Squeals high they scream at nigh;

Three sided leaves drop upon lustr’d crowns,

Escape is paramount and impossible

For guardians oversee their every move.

Limbs akimbo and fingers crooked

Deep based sonorous vibrations,

Echo In the playground town.

Terror flows in every vein.

Vernal impulses encircle passerby.

Black singed his scythe hovers

O’er heads of three, the hens

That barren leaves dew.

Thumps of marrow and flesh and sinew

Says adieu in solitary languages,

Unknown in six by two.

Three are they a sinful bunch

With nay seventy moons

Gone by, but they be as full

Of sin as rattlers full of venom.

Hair of gold and fresh, fresh

Thoughts have they.

They be sinners three, and

Doomed to blackness four by four.

Sinners, sinners, not long on this

Planet. Sinners, sinners, charnel

For a dismal fate.

Skin of snow on mountaintop

Crowned with thorns of spike.

Crushed to earth by forces.

Sinners before a note is sung

At the funeral of their birth.

They are the modern sinners, betrothed

To reapers, heads of air in

Castles nigh, burping edicts

Through a forked sky, spilling the

Dust of bones for these

The modern sinners, but two by two.



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