Saturday, March 15, 2008

congealed effervescence

wiggidy wump the frigid corpse
hits the floor. "too many sins,"
claim wrens pecking near
"No dear, 'twas the fear,"
ravens state peering at fate
with a dinner leer gleaming
upon their faces pacing adjacent.
pacing closer to view the boon
to the forest folks' resources.
"Tear the hair," declare the wrens.
"peck the flesh," stress the ravens.
"But it's only a poem spun from rainbows,"
declaims an owl down to the ground,
"and that my folk feeds the soul.
So dine friends with minds divine,
with christs' cup from magic height
and rejoice the gift given present
for life is to live and be loved today
with vigil and intellect
for tomorrow won't harmonize by its own.


  1. I wouldn't have thought you could use the word "resources" in a poem. It's like "beverage," isn't it? I wonder what congealed effervescence tastes like. Butter?

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