Serious Murmurs

What do you do
on a dead man’s day?
Pull up a finger;
chop it away.
Wrinkle each feather
slice off the tips
burden with plastic
down to the drips.
What do you do
on a flailing peach stew?
Slop it, the drop it
then tally its slew.
Wink in the sun
send it all shiver
make poppy-locks call
and thereto come hither.
Rub off that chocolate,
chocolate soufflé,
Drowning kid spikes
himself to go further
calmly disports,
eight-year old peril.
Mother’s not keen.
What do you do
on a day yet unseen?
Slather a Barbie
cook its hair bare
rip out its entrails
and spit in its hair.
What do you do
on cloud-ridden sky?
Where weather is hazy
without knowing why.
Scribbled down few
some slight little words
ha-ha comes near,
haven’t you heard?
That the ocean is restless,
shivers come swell
churning out waves
colder than hell.
Is it sand that is hasty,
all smooshed in the toes?
or walled-up and lazy,
a figure to hold.
Bells are so silent,
wind, it just howls;
adventure, compliant
tender sweet vowels.
Do they know how it whispers?
Humming like screwing
quick, with no sounds.
What do you do
when the fighting is through?
Carefully slam it
on the fair, hidden ground!