Chris McCreary

 from Fiend Folio

Yoda

I.

Sand-blast the hour glass
full of holes or tiny

spaces. The devil waits
in the empty pockets

of air, bides his time
by practicing the

arch of his drawn-
on eyebrows.

II.

Craft a catchphrase to describe
so deep a cavern. Try

decrepifying, then scratch it out
& try again.

III.

Dear Y.,

As requested, have chronicled the appeal of demons by both proximity and
degree of relative stainlessness. Have researched mylonization. Have many
questions. Pls advise.

IV.

A waxworks of disembodied
heads. A lullaby

to paralyze, to re-cork Pandora
& un-

carve Pygmalion's parlor game.

V.I wrote disembodied but meant severed.

Apologies for any confusion.

VI.

Dear Y.,

Code Name Cassandra is in play. Pls send backup. Request Ganesh, but will
accept Gilgamesh, Green Arrow, a lesser Power Ranger if necessary.

Zenith

They murmur,
curse,

shove to touch every
relic: a cathedral's

peeling fresco,
fingernails of some long-

gone saint. But the altars
are abandoned, their blood stains

just borders fading
like washed-

away paint. Meanwhile
the canary

is uncaged, is all metallic
alloy & beyond super-

sonic in an un-
ironic always of odyssey

& oracle & somehow
still aloft.

 

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