the late night fog
carries the smell of candy
the dog doesn’t notice
or is uninterested
or i imagine it
each of these potential realities
is equally valid
in other universes my little hunter
has a cold
has scented a coyote
i am having an intracranial incident
i cannot avoid what
the night fog offers me
no bitter oil slick of chocolate
no icy bite of mint
no slow burn of cinnamon
just the sick-sweet punch
of fluorescent waxes filled with
sugar syrup and unspecified fruit flavors
a preschool classroom
after snack time
each mouth red-ringed
exhaling diabetic clouds
during nap time
***
the morning fog replaces this
with the odors of wet
pine
juniper
cypress
eucalyptus
and standing beneath one
broad-leafed tree
the sound of rain
local to this spot
instantiated in this moment
dew condenses
dripping leaf to leaf
Tag: candy
candy and concrete (20161022)
surrounded by
eternity’s fat fathers
velvet words
a poisonous, laughing poetry
perfumed breath of women
borne on ferocious breezes
decay a liquid ghost
tasting like candy and concrete
her heart lies
but never voices her magic rhythm
——
for
Specks and Fragments/The Elusive Trope
Magnetic Poetry Saturday Challenge: A Chorus Line (10.22.16)
Poem 20150213
break all the hearts
snap them until your hands
are caked with candy dust
and the food safe inks
coat your fingers like
blood
dig out the cherry centers
of all the chocolates
evacuate the liqueur
and save it to burn in lamps
made of human flesh
and human bone
call upon st. valentine
to strike with his crozier
to break open every heaving chest
expose every swiftly beating heart
like a surgeon intent
on eradicating some diseased
greasy, necrotized mass of tissue
so the lungs can finally fill with air