On backroads in Kansas,
past the dark glowworm trails
a radish-man lies
telling stories of Oz
He holds mustard-dipped gravel
to tell of the by-ways
he spins like a cyclone
of locution and bywords
moving nothing but lips
In the hole where they grew him
lay devotions and spirits
that fled his corrupt house
when Azazel walked in…
Now he speaks of the poppies
now the burden of sleep
and [...]
there’s a mirror-man,
with dark, rough hands,
in the theatre-alley of retrospect
that cues the finest intros
his long-cane stills my stuttering lips
and over-weight pride en-lightens
a destroyer and a builder
in turns I smile and fight him as
his bruised hands motion for my next act
bright stage lights flare precisely
when I want a night scene
the curtain falls untimely
on my improv soliloquy
This [...]