After the Fall

Where the remains of the stock had come 
To rest, there no longer gathered a congress

Of crickets whose sole lot in life was 
To sing while stripping it  

Unceremoniously bare. 

Loopholes

Quick, quick, tie those loose ends up— 
You don’t want them to know who 

Those dangling legs belong to. . . . . . .

Timely Disclosure

Behind the motionless foliage of the pepper tree, 
A thin, half-hidden crescent will soon reveal itself fully— 

But wait—what folly thinking I’ll begin to see 
What yesterday evening was hidden from me. 

Poetic Vessel

Before you find yourself haplessly
Maneuvering between the two 
Black Clashing Rocks 

On the way to your next port of call, 
Stop over at one called Ithaca and stay long 
Enough to find out what it means— 

It’s either that or it’s time 
To give up the ship.

Eye Opener: Letter to Philip Larkin

Dear Mr. Larkin, 

I just finished reading your poem “This Be the Verse” 
For Mr. Throckmorton A. Thrasher’s English class, 
And as he wants us all to write you 
Our impressions of it or else, I just want to say 
I don’t remember my folks fucking me up one bit— 
Come to think of it, I don’t recall them fucking at all; 
From the looks of it, I guess yours did it 
In plain view of everybody, including you. 

Sincerely yours, 

Thomas LeVoyeur III, 
R. Clement Caning School of Interdisciplinary 
Inquisitional Studies, 13 Hard Knox Lane, 
Sully Hull, England 

Malala

No tears. Her name’s all 
Song and it’s all 

Ready a rallying cry.

Rash

Looking back 

In your great haste, that moonlit snail 
Trail you rashly took for inspiration, now 

Having barely scratched the surface, the soiled 
Spectacle of lunatic ants over the moon 

In your underpants, dejection.