Dishonorable Mention

Umbilical dream.
Curdled night cream.
A tailor may seem
The most likely craftsman.

A needless distraction
To blanket the cuff.

Since I’ve had enough,
I’ll leave it to those
Who’re able to pose
And keep my tongue still.

A cat on a sill
Can watch and take note,
Without opening her throat
And alter the future.

To zip and to suture
The wounds that can mend
Leaving fewer loose ends
To snip and cut off.

I clear and I cough
To keep my lungs ready
Incase there’s a steady
Pelting of curses,

Shiny coin purses
Of dissonant reason.

Tis always the Season
To Carol pretension,
Intent on ascension
Above those in the choir.

Higher and higher
More lies on the fire.


11/16/21