Three Rhymes

Early Mourning Frost
The hot dew hardens to ice upon the windshield
as lank limbs disentangle within the car,
and while tears frost over, glossing a lonely field,
the maternal moon weeps—powerless from afar.

 

Empty Music Hall
The piano notes drip like pensive rains
and trickle down the gently pitched eaves
of his heart, blurring the dark windowpanes
of his eyes—waiting while the storm leaves.

 

Aloe Verus
His laurel crown was but now
poison ivy itching at his brow
with taunts of greatness in a ringed rash
that provoked his anger till, brash,
he scratched at his skin until it bled,
and so, moaning aloud, he said,
“Glory burns so badly it utterly grieves—
O I would trade it all for some aloe leaves!”

 

 

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