Canvas Slicings
Christopher Stolle
rose powder drifts
on dew-stricken lawns
to mystify nature's
reproduction magic
while pine trees die
and apple trees blossom
dim doom surrounds
screaming quartets
to allow security
to face venom bites
yet no snakes to slither
upon the sandy corridor
indigenous wounds
enrapture racial movements
and no one sees the ivy
flourish with downy clovers
and when the least leaf falls
our oceans slip asunder
unnerving neanderthal
velcro straps on the bow strings
as the books align with
bottle caps on the counter
but no one swings
no one sways
and no one listens
