What eye barely blinks in what firmament, trying out oblivion on us? Halons pierce the ozone blanket and omens drop from the skies: dead birds, powdered bees. The world burns and thirsts and bodies fill the earth. As waters grow heavy, coral reefs put on white funeral clothes. Once, I plucked a tiny bleached skull out of sparse grass— its rostrum still a small wonderment, hinging at the flange where the two mandibles join: where a mouth had opened and asked for such a small need to be filled.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.