Honeycomb Pageantry

Her palace collapsed
Like a mini civilization
Amidst flapping wings
undulating in perfect pitch
along a downward,
spiralling trajectory
and a fusillade of rifle shots

The Philosopher’s Stone

He was born in a small town
A cave to be exact
Birthed in scrawled glyphics that created a club then a bat
Forged some fire later the match
Centuries tatter later
Found work as a compass
Navigating maps
Eventually went to college
Studied biology minored in math
Got straight A’s in physics
Graduated cum laude
Took his first real job
As an atomic bomb
He was let go

Reclamation

I once loved the city and its gleaming promise
Of slicked back, urbane haute cultured praxis
Circus sideshows, embonpoint and spectacle
Where cinereous clad clouds hover like buzzards