Spelunking
a night-encaverned kitchen, guided by the whistle of the frigid air— restless carnivore prowls for prey. Hungry eye lights on a box of seedless raisins: pounce! The body, ripped open, spills its sweet entrails. A bloody midnight feast. Were-spelologist awakens amid shards of cardboard and desiccated grape husks. |
Night Passion
from Samizdat : poems, 1st ed., Dec. 2001.
1st web edition posted
7/1/2002.
This page last updated 8/6/2010.
Published by Fleabonnet Press.
©
2001-2010 by
Brian Kunde.