Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Assembly Line

The pack
nestled together,
each from
chomp to compost to Mmmm again.

Nothing could pull them from twig and leaf.
Their mantra over and over.
Salutations in twilight to desert grass.
Mental telepathy between frond and foe.

Shikow. Shikow.

The chomp thump squeeze of hearts.
Rows upon rows.
Gentle and forever.
Then the mantra again.

Shikow. Shikow.

(Currently available in Spring Issue (Name Volume Ate) of
  • Feed Me Seymour
  • Mmmm, Moon

    Tanto pondered its shape
    between mouthfuls.

    Its circumference rolled evenly
    over taste buds and saliva.

    Not stirred.

    The truth.
    Simple and elegant.

    She crooned,

    I Tanto.
    Eat grass.

    Moon make I happy.
    Grass. Leaves.
    I happy.

    Her slow rumble hum
    drew a congregation of
    swallowing necks and trunks.

    Mmmm, the pack appreciated.
    Mmmm, for her wisdom.

    Their palettes cleansed in vermillion and ochre,
    the bark of the conifer,
    and cypress roots nudged from within.

    They gazed upon the light,
    drawing long brushstrokes
    from the shell’s beacon.