Tonight, the air is fresh and there’s icicles throughout the wind.
The moon is bright, and something is headed for impending doom.
Black tar oils its way through our inner cavities.
What comes next? The creature ponders
For the prickled feathers that stem from your flesh
are lime green with orange racing stripes
Your bug eyes black squeaky clean
Down to your sharp teeth that are Oh so mean
Gulping down your meal like a savage beast
I threaten you by yelling please desist
but you’ve chomped on his bones leaving no one at home
trampled by where the buffalo roam.
No death is not a motion picture.
Stop! right there.
Cause your reading from a scripture.