Alan King

after Tim Seibles

Follow the trail of bones,
and they might lead you
back to a city block
of busted hydrants?

an area scattered with
bodies gnarled like gummi
candies and the licorice
of twisted metal from

uprooted buildings.

When I stomp, streets are
Graham crackers crumbling
under a child?s fist. I?ve chomped
my way, like Pac Man, through

fast food chains; I am

a bi-coastal gopher eating
his way across America,
my brain hijacked by hunger
whose demolition tendencies
send me on a feeding frenzy?

overturning police cruisers,
swatting at helicopters
buzzing around
like dragonflies.

Last updated September 27, 2022