Dis-Top[Ea]

This reality:

not the bright-eyed 
shoot-em-up gallery
they promised,

not nearly as nice
as the dusty menagerie
foreseen. 

Orange, plastic caps 

land in the doorway 
of cardboard market stalls.

Another Compromise

Awakening on its journey,
a smell of slight decay.
Leaves sloughing from the canopy. 
A zombie losing the safe promise
of summer fruits.
Scurry and hurry to the beat
of a sacred, albeit fatalistic, 
yearly routine.
Close to where we started,
but no less sweet to see,
the two by two's; the families; 
their long sleeves

Filthy

Leave your scrap.

I am the excrement of the world. 
I crawl to the edge of the trash pile,
salt it with earth
and devour. 

Leave your disgust.

I am the crazy you loathe
and the strange you fear.
I sing platitudes 
like a skipped record, 
scratching the cliff holds for dear life.

Lay me in the dirt.

I suffocate there 
thousands of years
watching the strata pass.

Cast me your stones

and throw me in the pit. 
Belabor your glorious effort
at my humble expense. 
If all else fails, 

burn the witch.