Comments about Amber Toohey
Saturn, With A Waning Moon
Black majik filaments,
sticky with entropy
tie me down, like four-point restraints;
I am a husk in syndication,
reruns of dyspeptic cannibalism
and soullessly cultivated afternoons.
A cock crows abruptly, the vessel
freeing my moon,
stars gathered in my hand to be thrown
at a basalt sky -
and the sun bursts into atomic candy;
I am ardency incarnate,
the cheshire cat with a thousand truncated canaries.