Klarkash-Ton
and the Prophet of Doom
Clark
met Howard one rainy night
on
the steep Providence streets.
there
were fell things in the air,
the
sound of leathery wings flapping
and
an eldritch feeling,
as
if something
not
of this world
was
just around the corner.
Clark
was more facile with words,
yet
Howard cooked a mean pasta,
or
he would have if he liked to cook.
anyway,
he found success
that
would outlive the two of them,
and
spawned a soul-destroying pack
of
B-grade movies.
But
really it was the boys,
which,
in the interest of,
and
besides, nothing was ever proven.
Anyway,
we won't discuss them here,
not
in a family magazine,
and
we must think of the families,
because
some of those kids,
sacrificed
on mossy stone altars,
were
still underage,
and
why do you think
they
wrote that stuff anyway?
Publ. Poetry Life and Times, 2005
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