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?