Two Poems

Roses on Toast

roses if roses had her green thumb her roses’ wares: roses, roses roses that, begging pain, scare roses roses, roses’ skulls like it with roses she roses sing might prison us roses roses three, she hair parts the yellow roses’ own parched please, roses, diamond roses, roses squeal on roses fused roses let pour, make public blind roses, blind roses slathered on toast roses clicking through ash scare roses eyes are roses to roses’ child, sweet, sweet yes sweet roses sound like snow roses’ suppertime, roses scarf roses’ toast roses’ teeth being roses planet moon dusk sends roses running raspy breathed Sleep’s Nephews / Ignition Devils while the Moon decided its conscience Sleep’s nephews were tasting what was copied notched, their doubles (the ignition devils) savoring same and agreeing, naturally, the many set high, hastily, up among the clairvoyant want down, eventually, when they wake through what fancies mechanically replicating apologists, who, dissatisfied with sketching law, themselves well up suddenly awake