Best Poem of L.S. Klatt

First Frost On Windshield
Perfect stitches suture the glass, & if patient enough
watch them disappear.
Like the dead dog in the middle of the road, the invisible
dog that an ice cream truck hit & the rest of us
skirted. Was the last thing tasted
the last thing?

It whimpers, the muzzle of the dog head; the hackles
become rimed . . .
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Peripatetic
The pine threw down its needles
The squirrel played in a pile
What a strange response
to the loss of tingle
Spine cannot budge- the feet
tucked
Suppose a hunchback that foundered was found
to be a pole, bipolar
Yea, humpback in the flammable sea
yea, pin-cushion with pikes . . .
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