11. Gunshots explode in the sky

as the initial crystals
combust into themselves,
demons and dragons
igniting the night into flames
of quartz, like Christmas presents
implode into strange galaxies
and feats of aerial architecture
in thunderous booms as if the
skies were suddenly falling
and comets were raining from the
ground up
accompanied by whistling snakes
calling out like maddened birds
flaring into the storm of
sparkling starbursts
and fireflies twisting about
only to end in unknown curlicues,
trajectory
undefined

as if we have not enough
Vesuviuses and hurricanes
that we must stuff them into our pockets
and set the night on fire
for beauty, for pleasure
for the sheer
fireworks

10. Ne me touchez pas

Vases

one would think, invincible
with their armoured surfaces
sprawling with pink arabesques
high – upon the mantel
or a table
far away

though in a corridor I have many
it is suddenly in this group
and on the floor
that they become so vulnerable
that if a herd of elephants, perhaps
came charging through
picking them up with their
impossible trunks
and carelessly flinging them about

no finer china
or more refined design
could stop the onslaught
of beauty, of vases.

9. Squished Caterpillars

Upon the red-brown cobblestones,
All sprayed across the ground –
The crushed intestines roast away
Beneath a heartless sun.

In almost lovely yellow seas
The ants are interspliced –
The spotted skin resilient,
A boat beneath the waves.

Unwary of the earth they tread,
Yet mindful of the way –
The time flits far too fast to note
The banquets underneath.

In torrid minutes, crisp and brown –
The bowel-juices fry;
The blood is soaked into the stone
as recognition – fades.