AN OLD NEAR ABANDONED KITCHEN
In that crypt where dead thoughts are stashed
these classical notes
wander my brain
and peel off the scents
of musty numb and muted pain
born of the music of the dead
…a sacrament of crumbs in the drain
from water, wine, and crusty bread!
SCROOGE
The season’s first frost!
…tomorrow at dawn.
I wait for the cold
and wait in the cold
while the blood in my cheeks
goes pale and old
like a ghostly, heavenly, song!
THE POLITICAL OUTCAST
In what stew of fatigue
emotionally ambiguous
spawned from a groan
like the sound of a frog
and cooked and stirred
by History’s winds
…in what friendless meal
do the dead among us
arrive to be eaten?,
day by day
and with money’s exchange!
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