The Last Cannibal In Brooklyn

Slowly, ever so slowly,
the tiny blue spiders awaken.
They sing and dance
like sweet children.

Early April is a small child,
full of bluster and grace.
The fifth of April, I had a dream.
I pulled a tiny gray skull from
my right rear molar.
Then, my face replaced Lincoln's
on Mount Rushmore.

I was baptized a Catholic,
and you know what that means.
I like my reality solid,
and preferably, edible.
I find rational thought
to be the stuff of heresy.
I am confident my mother
will someday be canonized.

I never actually breath,
only sigh.

by David Kowalczyk

Comments (1)

Well written and great imagery but very cryptic, not from a critical view point though cryptic is good makes the reader think more and want to see the poems depth. Love this one. Séamus