chewed up and swallowed
and boxer shorts.
Sampson cowered baldly near Lake Titicaca.
Ignoring computer print-outs,
Lizzie Borden’s father
followed Cleopatra (in ruby sweat socks),
“Feather duster or sledge hammer?”
she tittered glacially.
The North Pole erupted, granite to ashes.
“Burn, baby,” General Sherman said
to Joan of Arc (in her mink garter belt),
an obelisk smoldering in his jock strap.
His watering eyes saw the crystalline
Arc de Triomphe dissolve,
a tidal wave of corn meal mush.
Boy scouts danced two abreast
with female cobras
Marc Antony warned them,
But Doris Day,
wearing a gardenia smile,
stiletto high heels,
and marble evening gown
sang “Que sera, sera.”
excerpt from FROM THE DEPTHS OF THYME Lauren O. Thyme copyright 2016
Lauren O. Thyme is a spiritual and psychic counselor, healer, channel, lecturer, published writer and poet, professional astrologer, and spiritual pilgrim.
Originally published in Feh! A Journal of Odious Poetry