Grin as Gargoyles Do

 

Jolly boss of a cagey populace,

I weave the ruddy runoff from god’s play-

house out of an oblong mouth and cackle

proud, vernal chemicals to the concrete.

The flue-suited sweep in the street seizes

me uncertainly, vacant. With surprise,

we both brush flatly and vaguely unclasp

gazes tossing a game of ball-and-jacks,

 

pupils serving as downspouts of dyed men.

Marble feathers molt, and this nose erodes

in frozen fractions, asymptotically.

Will devil-worn lips always overlay

prescient toons to come as strictures stand still

and choruses wring out holy standards?