X

 

 

 

The broomride wind invents a bodyguard anger
steering smoky clouds across a volatile sky
as virus iris wicked witch of the west
hangs over the rodent rainbow road to the kingdom of Oz
bricking past spam sam of brainless straw,
email gail the rusty woman soldier
camouflaged as an empty metal man,
and wimpy worm norm in lion’s garb
following virgin Dotty scrambling yellow along
hoping Kansas will happen in her mind.
Recuperative eggs hatch in a vacuum of stress
or four chickens follow fuddled faith;
wizard or lizard, mindchoice or sky voice,
answers or cancers on a circular trail.

XI

 

 

 

Holy heavens, Little Chicken, validate
my ticket to the cemetery resurrection section,
fulfill my gibberish wish list with
purpose and pleasure and peace and pleasant people
as we waddle together through your prophesy:
the decline and fall of the sky reign empire
that never fell—now how will we rise
above our dancing on or under fire?
We breathe our feathered skin to swallow death,
ear-ached pain of lies, can’t find the king;
the foxy burning ozone becomes
tiny eggshell floaters hopefully
reappearing in our nextime.
Umbrella safe for now, I’m Locky Cocky.