by brandon s. roy
The turtle motions towards the golden miracle,
the dark earth did hold a frozen treasure.
A slice of moon wrapped in a cold
black tortilla is all that was left. Save the leftovers in aluminum foil.
Only use pink telephones to call messiahs.
Like water for wild ambition and wonder.
Remember, the euphoric rush of getting sick on the front lawn.
Ants drunk me over crawl everywhere.
The fish are slimed on sake laughing at ants in glided cages
dressed in Paris green suits ringing bells, playing saxophones and popping pills.
Now beat that:Witches will leave lemons in
your stomach if you’re not careful.
Thirty miles and a handful of magic seeds and
no wishes for the weary and unfortunate.