Edible and deep- a radio act ivating black light special: 7 dollars down the secret W. side alley where Mrs. B will cook up a big pot of shadows pooling on the dark side of the street. Children and old men converge on the gutter to lap the run off. Their tongues turn black. Orbs of a chocolate angel, soft, and fractured from the fall. Sticky and warm... lost to the curve of dangerous moonlight. Only the man with the telescope can see.
I am in a very dark and mysterious place right now - with a low hazy crecent moon hanging over the lake through the windows - your poem was just suited my mood.thank you
Mmm... chocolate... I love the imagery, the surreal nature this has, the oddly timed breaks work. Seems to me a lot of people don't like that disjointed breaking up of thoughts, but imo people tend to read too quickly and it forces them to slow down or go back and figure out what's being said. A chocolate angel melting is on fire.
