“BEHIND THE GLASS DOOR”

One wet pink worm 

sitting wrinkly on

top of the other 

juicy, opening 

a mystical cave 

placed beneath 

the convex priest,

the marbled spiders,

yet so pathetically

accessory 

for when it spreads 

wide, the starry lilac 

sounds pirouetting 

out have nowhere to 

land,

no nest to inhabit. 

Snowdrop, the glass

door is so thick,

no key to that lock.

And you could sing

the sweetest melodies,

still they’d bounce off 

their grimy brick walled

impenetrable backs. 

M.L. January ‘25