In the house of death the old ones chant
strange couplets & mysterious narratives-
that like the tumble-weeds wisp through the picket fence....
& flows, sweeping down the dark byways & pathways.....
echoing out over the empty lawns-
they hold sway, beckoning otherworldly beings.

& on the porch my girlfriend sits
swinging on the lover’s seat
with her long glimmering hair radiant
more luminous than fireflies a glorious raiment-
& as she swings the floorboards creak their own riddle.

A unicorn from the world next-door prances up the gravel road.....
& places his soft enigmatic head upon her lap...
& as she strokes the snow-white curls of his mane.
carresing his horn with her long fingers.
The unicorn closes his eyes & falls asleep-
Trusting in their affinity........

The elms & chestnuts sing
as the stars & moon skinny-dip.
In the throats of their branches
the limbs of the trees begin to leaf....
Surly the world is coming to an end.....

As the huntresses pull up
in the driveway in their pickup trucks.
Humming with their sharp spears:
“so many unicorns from the world next door
are eating up the antique roses of civilization
in the flower beds of providence
Unicorns are emptying our dying fountains.”.
They whisper through the spaces of their teeth....

& as the sky unfolds with alien constellations.
the brook behind the house cries itself bitter-
the bulrushes & the tangleberies,
the rumpleleworte & rhubarb wither
next to the apiary of treachery
& then our the fountains die.....