I.
Mad Howler with bloody tools
Aching Grace with press-on nails
A forked and clacking
peroxide tongue
Indulgences sold for the honey tresses
A wicked queen
tilling bleached soil
Raising chickens and muting the shockwaves
Computed tables and purple torches
The end in sight
through painted eye-lids
II.
I grabbed my Bible nonetheless
Praying when the commercials
came on
Stuffing my face with popcorn and Red Vines
The tragedy unfolding between bites
and chews
Breaking News – the rocket exploded
Pre-empting the sex and the skin
of the hour.
III.
Picking the bargains apart with meat-hooks
A fashion written in electric lines
A cantata erasing the end
of his sentence
He sits on the couch with a cell phone
and pouts
A molten beauty with
a lily-white cross
IV.
“Wreckage from the first of many storms that year,”
The announcer intoned amidst computer
simulations
the rickety man made his rounds
Victoria’s Secret on
gyrating hips
