FLOOR  PLAN JOURNAL

Bad Luck, bad luck, bad luck, the hyena
I found cracking like a fat slice of bacon
out from one of my dream’s mirrors, 
on the brink of her final squawk!
A goat was chewing on a dead soldier’s 
rifle butt while a few ghastly pages whispered out from the red book
of one of the damned.  “Etcetera,” 
I said before falling back into the blazing eye of sleep wherein I floated down 
the void of one of Hell’s creeks,
tied by Rimbaud’s bowtie to the drunken                                      boat of the idiot.