Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-one Winter 2009 |
Habeas Corpus Chris Ridenour Though Stephen shod would snivel yellow, barcalounger bound, for seven planets this was holiday. Linoleum and dagger, tailgate sinking, mine the slag and wooden nickels from the morgue. Tokyo pachinko, steel balls and Stephen walked a hard-on mile just because. More than half will have eleven toes and tissue paper cerebellum. Knightsbridge, every wife has taken house and waxen made will, burning, set as oil lamps on the lawn. Look at his as Stephen does, aquarium at heart. Cheese is Jesus, Black Hills gold in glass Coke bottles, come in buffalo machines. Back in Eisenhower postage stamps cost just a grape seed, Stephen set his feet beside tomato worms and put the baby down to sleep. |
About Chris Ridenour |