By: Milton P. Ehrlich
Casualties of agreed-upon lies
fuel their guts with fire and smoke,
in a rage that cannot be quelled.
They feast on glassy-eyed fish heads
that even the seagulls throw away.
Buckets of bumblebees sooth the palate.
Like starving caterpillars, they nibble
on lacey leaves. With gnashed teeth—
chew on roots and suck on old bones.
Thunder rumbles in the bowels.
Breath echoes the scent of apples.
Ox eyes begin to look like oysters.
Wild geese rattle the air, out of reach.
They bear the unbearable, longing for
nasturtiums when trilliums will have to do.
A blunt sun evaporates everything.
They sit beside a stagnant pond, wondering:
Can they survive on the petals of love?