Fox Kerry
2 min readMay 9

The Edges of Steel

DirtWhales, artwork by this writer, No False Intelligence Bots employed

If you race with the hurricane out past its mark, beyond where the pillars form their handshake
If you play light in the spots where a whale could crack the earth, take care to know the beat of ones own breathing
For dry fume bursts of hear me roar still get sandy-eyed and feel like quests for a deathbloom
to capture fame is elixir full indeed, but sometimes when the mask pulls taut they’ll see your motive … and walk you to that quiet place … dimly, by dimly, by dimly

For it’s in the framework of that stented face, of an eyedroop , of a hand lilt, that corpses will tell you
how that men they know … they were built to die … with marksmen shoulders and organs on vital
with guilt at the edges, burnt like sorrows … they play like they half don’t know dance at all

Although they do hire doctor gods … to move forward … and put a penny finish on it
at ends of day … paid not in gold, though their teeth will tell you other … they enjoy the plugging tremor dikes that run the course of mountains

for streets they soar, or rather do scream, with bullets and with frenzy yet with knowledge and disclosure
as the soldiers know what citizens can’t, how each soul it paints a grave
and tallies do a work that men could never solo
so throw your balls and precisions machines
roll the wind like fargone tales of ambered bingo
carry those treasure knotlines east, burrowed to nevercome nations
and whisper to camels eppytaph things probably meant for ladies
but steel will burn and concrete blossom and chariots crack anew
for nothing is hidden that God doesn’ t know
and no tent stands in for a fortress
and never a man was born of dirt, that twirl couldn’t flummock and dizzy with ease
so ride through your towns, you know them so well
if not the infant there, surely swaddled nearby
but maps are thorough dots of light, for they nail it everytime where childhoods fail
retracing the homes, the tombs and cupboards, and the night…

Fox Kerry

If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.