Infinite Monkey

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Toynbee’s Inventor

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mackintosh-silver-applesSilver apples of the moon
steeped in dandelion’s wine
grown from carnival Egyptian tombs
in aging funhouse rooms
where Martian-tongued gypsies make
deals in never-ending autumn fields
Amid the acrid scent of burning books
whose weathered pages, like broken butterfly wings
still beating staccato-rippled echoes in the night

A startled heart
thumping loud, behind the lapels of a sweated ice cream suit
thought safe,to take a breath,locked behind a door
its pounding rhythm, A Sound of Thunder, drowning, ringing ears
from closets creep, your inner fears,
Come crawling, spider-legged and spindly, woven of your dreams
to smother, all summer, in a Ray
in culverts filled with cricket sounds
fed by shadows in

Summer’s wind taking temporary possession,
in the October Country’s pumpkin colored skies
a body claimed, to steal a taste
of a young boy’s rebuffed affections
these tattooed vagrants bide their time
holding hands with firemen, spacemen, ghosts and technology’s assassin
while Grandmere, this April Witch, waits with dusted lips
to break her seal
and golden-eyed, give throat to hymns
that sing their bodies electric

A homage to Ray Bradbury, who lit the way in darkness to my dreams.


Written by Rainee Squatch

July 21, 2013 at 3:56 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. […] Read Mrs. Anthony’s full poem here: Infinite Monkey. […]

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