QUA QUA QUA
(A CLOCKWORK STUPID)
by William M. Peaster
upon beauty’s throat
it’s all Unsaid
like wild roses
whose thorns rise and penetrate
the soft world wide open
a mist of blood levitating
between the dream & real & dream
some dollop of mortality
curdling within a hole
within the storm
where the sun breaks through
like a spotlight
not a star.
[You can find "Qua Qua Qua" and 150 similar poems in my recently published volume of poems, Phantastikon].