Salvaged Poem #2

Wrap the lye-dipped apple in a layer of caramel,

stab it on a stick, and shake ten or twenty sprinkles

over it like confetti in preparation

for some grand occasion or another.

Bringing together one's bosom companions

invitations will go out to that man of 

Whitechapel, Boston, and Chicago

(the latter dressed in his clownsuit)

We'll all gather together in the most haunted house in town

lock ourselves inside and the flashlights outside

Find rest another night in some graveyard or another

Claw at the ground and scream to be admitted

There's the chain smoking of menthols

atop the roof of that condemned building

with shoddy framework, asbestos, and lead

You stare straight at the sun for hours and hours on end

On the coldest night of the year, we will stand naked

Beneath a sky that weeps large shards of ice

and that moon, that moon, and that moon

Walk slowly to the middle of the road

Then run down its length until you reach the highway

(The road is icy and everyone has stayed at home)

We'll stand there, as long as it takes

All those flickering stars of eyes

see how we survive.