An Asp Lusts
Fall’s smells fall under a frigid sun.
Crisp air glides along ruffling the fallen leaves
Rides them like a surfer aloft on a wave.
The wind waves a farewell to once fulsome trees,
Weep of an impending sleep.
All gathered at the dance,
Brushed and content in the hokum of their lives,
They revel in the gift of an early-morning tryst.
Arms uplifted in a Freitag stretch,
They lust for toothpaste at the local CVS
And morning Star headlines,
And the Chiron-streamed news on Fox warning of fiscal cliffs,
And slithering, saturnine, sand castles that beckon them.
Somewhere she dies alone
Last words a muffled scream,
Hair splayed like bloody splatter on her morning pillow.
A cacophony of brooding silence follows.
He meets the crisp morning,
Mother’s ruby-luscious lips fresh on his mind.
An asp slithers in a frozen garden,
Sibilates a silent message.
He runs his tongue over his sandpaper teeth and spits at the world.
A loudspeaker slices the glaciated, silent halls.
She assuages the Gorgon-headed storm,Shoos the insistent boogieman that conjoins them in his inferno
My Laugh Growled
My laugh growled.
She wiped it clean with her magic eraser.
Once called a happy idiot.
Smile tattooed by an artist
With broad brush strokes
Thick glob of black ink
At the end of his hake.
Sweeping, swift grin
Once curled at the edges
hung like a string Christmas bulbs
In long sweeping arches.
Feathered ends twitched in amusement.
Now in Schnauzer growls
Anonymity sought among the racks
Wrapped in polyester laughs
And combed cotton guffaws
Amid gleeful shrieks of uncovery
In a twill and cottony flea market.
Set there like a Greek statue
In ancient repose
Lost in a cloud of silence,a shroud.