Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Three Alliterative Exercises

//david mcnayr

heart attack, folded into sheets
holding fingers with fingers,
sorting through hundreds of thousands
of faint, pale storybooks
hardly seeming to fill the empty
spaces between the walls
filing away several crossed throughways
the stuffy heat of the attic
the heavy musk of the cellar
thick dust over covered furniture
echoed footsteps shuffling through the hallways.

"christmas after roast beef."
//david mcnayr

dry bread, tacky golden and pink
princess outfit, dress up cook
baking and clacking around
the kitchen, feet too small
for grandma's tall heels,
dragging her cane across the plastic tiles
as she dozes waiting for the buzzer.

"snap crackle pop."
//david mcnayr

license to kill small game
mice milling in the walls
munching on little morsels of
motel pillow mints:
modern rodent medicine
laced with pellets of
permanent painkillers.


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