Miscellaneous Poetry

Cubes

I think I like it,
this mild, fluffed vim.
An acrid gift
held in place
by bitter, broken grins.
This tainted cube
has an all new flavor:
I think I like it.


© 2011 Amy Josuweit

Hell

Hell is in the sun, rising,
with newly starched collars
like crowns on his head.

He creeps from the night,
that thick, dark mass -
as close as land underfoot.

That shady virgin skyline
glints; he comes
and takes away
that sacred shadow.

The horizon bows -
face down, skin pimpled:
Fear makes the hills and slopes.

His red-golden cassock, sharp,
bears his cross with slanted grin.
Hell is in the sun rising
over land he crushed to get there.


© 2011 Amy Josuweit

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