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.

Shaken.
Not stirred.

The truth.
Simple and elegant.

She crooned,

I Tanto.
Sister.
Eat grass.
Leaves.

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

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.