Angst Parade

Nocturnal fumbling
aroused the piddling clouds.
Near-tragic happenstance
reigned over dampened spirit.
The drowning band flailed on.
The very unnatural anthem
clung to the marchers’ steps.
The wailing tubal wind
sustained a mourning pace,
depressing the clowns of death.

To a Beetle Eaten Young

To a beetle eaten young,
I dedicate my tongue.
I’ll cut it up in thirds
and feed it to the birds.
For words will not suffice
the nature of this vice.
A beetle eaten young.
Who now will roll our dung?