There are so many teeth. They poke Steel fingernails into the sunlight And surround their drone whose crib Aims for precision dreaming.
Those shrieks, toothpicks from a scarecrow’s Grizzled smile, dice up what’s left Of brains, as if the divine butcher Were preparing another kosher meal.
Without bars on every window And across each threshold, the mad Might escape. The guy next door Has plenty of fertilizer, But will it blow up?
Among the Breeders
ReplyDeleteThere are so many teeth. They poke
Steel fingernails into the sunlight
And surround their drone whose crib
Aims for precision dreaming.
Those shrieks, toothpicks from a scarecrow’s
Grizzled smile, dice up what’s left
Of brains, as if the divine butcher
Were preparing another kosher meal.
Without bars on every window
And across each threshold, the mad
Might escape. The guy next door
Has plenty of fertilizer,
But will it blow up?
[Disposable Poem September 17, 2013]
Dr. Mike