by Mark James Andrews
with me down green chimneys.
all monsters and walk them over
to the bone yard
to staple their skirt hems
to the eaves of the crematorium.
the chin whiskers on the elf
perched on his bench
with the assault rifle
strapped over his shoulder blade.
the polaroid of me
sitting on the silver minnow bucket
offering you a yellow perch
or was it a blue gill?
the ham fisted sinner at the Steinway
sermonizing between twinkle tunes
“one never knows