killer of ladybugs
deep in the swine wind
where we are burning taffy,
tongue's flame catching
in hourglass pools,
forked flame where we end up
taking our sins out on each other,
each cemetery glade
a sunset bouquet
and lasting aftermath.
That Black Sabbath moment
you thought you wanted
came and took the coat
from your artificial sanity
and sealed your soul.
Bestow moss on the stones
that spoke slow.
Heave up a fresh barnacled anchor.
Put hammer to shore.
Watch the sparks gain red
their quadrant of yellow,
let blue have green
let the copse rain magic objects
let the colors seem.
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