Pigment Eaters
They feast on indigo. For dessert it’s Kafka and ozone. Their autopsies reveal dusk, orchards, chimneys, lichen, silk.
Apothecary Society
Their prayer: each syringe teaches us to sleep. They gibberish the wind with Ambien, the light of toothaches. They try to rip the stitches, to worry the wounds.
The Blind Dentist
tosses all night, the sky a throb of sockets.
The Belly Dancer’s Dressing Room
Darkness like a dead king’s robes. The panther of her walk, calm, predatory.
The Butcher’s Lost Boy.
He knows how long a shadow burns, how rust tastes of blood. With calipers he measures the dilation of eyes rounding into dream.
The Plumber’s Pond
The crippled swan
swims only in circles.
The frog of sadness
burps his name.
The party trick
of its tongue
his only joy.
Silverware Philosopher
The body is a book of wounds, said the knife to the spoon.