Trampoline serpents spit winds at the sand,
 (the winds gust a mere 10 degrees)
    ratchet the meter up one tiny notch,
bask in the flak from the breeze.

Stanzas repeated bleed tunes in your head
  (the winds gust at 20 degrees)
    counterpoint rhythms blast holes in the night
Scurry!- relentless squirrel feet.

Blanch sparrow clips to the telephone wire,
  reveals the beak hidden in wing.
    Bustard intruder, because he is higher,
will teach everybody to sing.

Crude plastic sandwich bags hang from your lips
  flecked with contumely disease.
    A bitten lip?-- mastic; but spastic, elastic.
It nuzzles, this verbose gangrene.

Laugh at that sparrow who sits on the wire!
  Lure him inside with bird seed.
    His pleasure is fleeting; his claws barely grasp
the current that runs 'neath his feet.

Coats lie in a corner, each tattered and torn,
  mere shells of linen-waste time.
    Astringent blue nimbus jig-waltz the fair fields.
Will you fit the latest design?

Snap bagel! Lose ladle! Drop cradle! And come!
  The winds pulse one h u n d r e d degrees
    Allegiance, I pray, to the new-tasted course;
revel in the coming unease.

Contemptible sparrow perched up on your wire,
  you'll never live close to the bone.
    Ask me again if I care what you think
then go fly your silly ass home.

Endorphins rip purse strings from grinch pleasure cells
  (the winds pulse untempered degrees)
    Toxicity charms and calamity swells.
Despoil detractors with ease.

Despotic arachnids spelunking in lime
  fay to the e'er cursing walls,
    empires they've built of harmonious wrath
will leech from the beats of a song.

Enliven this film! Dress a life stricken numb
  with a copse of enameled blood paint.
    Effeminate reason pleads, "Ain't it enough
to find that you taunt what you taint?"

Finger salute! Fear the sun, Mistress Fog,
  stagger new-blessed from this scene.
    Set what remains on the long journey home.
The wind gusts a mere 10 degrees.


© 2004 by Edward J. O' Brien