Poetry

Ready to pounce on 
a scarecrow. 
The ants were hungry. 
 
It was a dried bone― 
frame, wearing the royal 
costume, waiting for the moon. 
 
Can you play with the 
jewels and still 
remain poor? 
 
The suckers refuse to 
shrink, taking away skin, 
the eyes, the ears. 
 
It overwhelms the loneliness, 
the silence, the colossus, 
and the two-faced king in making.