Monday, February 03, 2014


Odds are that something else will kill you,
something that hasn’t already been worried
to death, the not in a million years event.

You’ll get caught in a shower of meteors. Planes
and pianos fall from the sky often enough.

I heard the screech, the metallic crumple. The sun
rose anyway, in a shattered goblet, a bubble this red
convertible could easily swallow.

The roadside altar pantomimes a warning. Daffodils
with torn throats loll beneath a string- tied cross,
pictures and messages already dissolving with weather.

Tonight’s eclipse obscures the tongue-drag of yellow
paint over smeared asphalt; the snake full of moon
wakes before dawn.

All night long, it scalloped the edge of the world.
In the morning, proceed with caution.


Iulia Flame said...

An eruption of imagery. Somehow the yellow still braces.

Cheryl and Janet Snell said...

Those Hindu myths are so rich, aren't they? Janet painted the snake before she read my poem, but I thought it was fair game for a duet.