Much less my style; I'm branching out, as it were. Please leave a link.

Redress, anthracite, make war with words;
Fight, Germania, deliver the world.
Poppy-sellers, wearing red; white faces;
hands aflame; fingers rusted.
Moral supports holding the roof from the soggy ground;
mud and bones mixed together;
a creamy soup.
Leatherjackets, hard and crisp,
ready to eat; ready to plunder
the gold in my mouth.

Screaming towards the beginning of nihilism,
sprinting the final leg; muscles on fire,
spilling blood upon the craggy road.
Cockroaches screeching, hissing;
I’m here.

On the mountaintop, looking west;
facing that general direction
with wind whipping wisps
of white-water hair, scraping across the scalp;
the surgeon’s blade cutting,
the saw digging in; remove it;
replace it; sew it up.
I better feel much.

Aardvarks joking with the termites;
best of friends
while backs are turned.
Degradated flowers, bowed in respect
of the burning carcasses, millions;
billions of air miles away,
They died millennia ago
it seemed good to me... but then again I didn't understand all the words... I'll look at this later with dictionary.com
Promises meant a lot back then.