Tuesday, May 23, 2017


Get Yourself a Clue

Colonel Mustard hefts the wrench
smiling through the empty library
the darkened hall
antique glass on the faded carpet
a jagged shard
extra-lexiconical, if that's a word
but it would do
still-warm candlestick
and its wisp of smoke
so many choices
while Aunt May slumbers
on her bed
head down on the polished walnut table
snoring in the sun-struck wingback
watering the ferns
he's reached the kitchen now
the seasoned skillet, the...
someone's at the door


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