Or so they say. Or so they say.
But I have seen a predawn glow
That holds more fear for me, you know,
Chocolate covered Peeps have never looked as grotesque
as when you press them, sloppily, to your lips,
in pajama pants and my old band shirt.
Puppies and skulls, barely reacting to each other.
I dreamt last night
of vomiting uncontrollably.
And I woke to get the call—
She died the day her mother died.
We all saw it.
Lily of the Night
Way far down the Willow grove
Laid a maiden fast asleep.
In the lacquer lake she dove,
Tearing the placid water deep.
I won’t let this speak of love
Or deathly yearnings, savor sweet
Or lusty desire, like a cat in heat.
No mad men killing for a lock of hair
Mrs. Mc’Donald told me to write.
Write of my best friend, Edgar.
My friend Edgar speaks of black birds
When the snow falls from the horizon,
And the icicles form on the ground,
I will wait till morn for the sun to set,
And lose you all around.
Oh what a fate! Oh cruel eclipse!
To leave the world at my fingers’ tips.
To give to me a mighty sharpened sword
To let me give an even sharper word?