Rue Morgue Avenue
Bullets rain,
winds prance,
Cold suns rise,
firebirds dance.
Sirens wail,
beggars chant:
Honi soi qui mal y pense.
Grimbeau
Scroodles
January 7, 2015
Message to Roxanna
Up
for apparent reason
undisclosed.
Harangued
power firm larcenists
with deft wit.
Bathed in bags of lavender oats.
Too much, too much
insouciance.
Satraps gather
at the Gate of Gosh
grovelling for a living
Grimbeau 