Story

Cicada grubs snugged numerously together

in the weak limb. Slept, dreamed,

devoured tree flesh, grew fat

with organs of song, reproduction.

They'd build

a cage of self to struggle free of, stand

in sun and wind,

fill the sky

with love's deafening racket.

The branch fell, their dreams

rolled on, green dials hidden in boles,

faces in woodgrain and clouds.

Monster Holiday

“Careful with that,”

said the monster

to the mover

with the glass jar

full of knapsacks and toes,

“and that too,”

he said (or was it she?)

of the mirror

with knapped edges.

Arrow,

enter the moon,

buy a statue of love.

Court a courtly lover,

grease the banjos in their apartments

sadly going over the figures

of department store dummies

still wearing the light

green seersucker dresses

of a 1970’s dream,

still asking for extra,

whichever it might be,

whether syrup or milk,

ointment or string.

Climbed up the fire escape with a noose

Sat on a stone sill. Said,

“Why kill yourself?

You’re gonna die anyway.”

It made a lot of sense,

peered in at the door

for a look at something

far from ordinary, though dull.