The Last Radio

RADIO still has power in the skyscraper basement,
BURST of squeals sometimes breaks the static.
TOUCH of surfaces grimes fingers, no cleaning for years.
CREAK of anything here makes you pray it’s only a rat.

Opaque Providence

SPORE, borne millennia through ether, lands on planet.
DEITY has deeper purpose, but eye sees only germination,
MANGA frame’s worth of an alien species uncoiling,
SNOOP all you like: purpose is only for spirit to see.

Annual bath

The slightly illiterate stable boy celebrates a once-a-year event…
TUMORrow I’ll do the washing. The
SLIMY, stinky, mud-covered
TUNIC will be first. Then I’ll wash the
STRAW out of my hair.