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Wrinkle-Crinkle, Crinkle-Wrinkle

  • God has a stamp
  • he wears in his pants.
  • Crinkle-Wrinkle
  • ahead he limps.
  • An owl nods
  • at his fading anger,
  • one-thousand years separating
  • his commands
  • from his nod.
  • "Wrap that trap closed,"
  • he said before,
  • yet now mostly silent
  • he plays
  • with ashes
  • of his former self;
  • lays stale eggs
  • in a cage --
  • wet from a wave
  • of timely distaste.
  • That owl plays an orange viola,
  • sitting on a branch.
  • "That's it."
  • "He's done,"
  • sings the bird,
  • and he down again brings
  • his worn-long stamp.
  • "No more" on this.
  • "No more" on that.
  • "No more."
  • Wrinkle-Crinkle
  • ahead he limps.

© 2014 by Kirk A. Shellko a.k.a. Lucian Whyte