a smattering of things
Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
no, i don’t have time
for your particular brand
of bullshit, please leave
oopsie doodle i
slipped on a half note and got
tangled in your stave
excuse you, sir, how
very much dare you; mountains are
not meant to dance here
surely as rough winds
do shake the darling bud, i
tremble in his wake
-rjm
the summer all the cows died
they came in the night
dressed in people clothes
an army of clacking lowing bones
rattling the doorknob
tapping on windows
with crude shriveled hooves
begging to be let inside the house
they implied that telling my parents
about them would have
dire consequences
as flames flared in the night skies
where its eyes used to live
they came every night that summer
bones rattling in a long procession
from the fields below up to our door
time has dulled the edges of these terrors
but if i close my eyes and concentrate
i can still hear the ghostly rattling of bones and hooves
echoing through the oklahoma night
-rjm
prompt: nightmares, from Amy Kay
loose threads 