“The False Prophet”

The clutter took up space replacing a radio on the shelf

The juggling gate strung a walrus laughing at himself

A fireplace whistled a melody coveting the sounds of Egypt

Smoking guitars filled the abandoned bars, puffing clouds of stale smoke

The glass hammer was about to break shattering yet another day

A sizzled shirt tried to convert the alert but the hammer wouldn’t stay

A cage radiated a stench of putrid grass and a wall kept his rhetoric at bay

The planks pulled stained cotton shirts to the floor pleading and bleeding of glass

The moon shone bright and lit the night and the walrus said it is time for class