Easter Sunday

Tom ato Ketch up
Pour able Mus tard
Supe rior Cof fee
No More Hot Cho colate
Fru it Ju ice
Lem on ade
Cran berry Ju ice
Or ange Ju ice
Ora nge Ju ice
Supe rior
War ning
War mer
7
Om ega
Ap pet iz ers & Sal ads
Tha nk You.

Carnelian

The only thing that is remembered is
redness in the dark. The slaughter at
the drive-in serves customers whose
appetites hold the spiritual accountable.
Room for dessert and an assortment
of insensitive variations
of a loving manner.

The starlight swims in the milky lake.
You can see its depth, but you can’t see
into it. Anxious and worldly, the fleshy
chromatically tuned bells obtain a
meandering course, cutting rather than
tearing, tearing rather than cutting.
A removal of merrymaking, a removal
of meat.

Time is opposed to eternity. It leans
over to one side in a headlong manner
an organized program of exhibitionist
travesty to illustrate the effect of grief
on the variable color of human flesh.
From pale to the grayish yellow
of tooth decay.

The effort to avoid omissions gives
emotional support to the irresponsible
in the face of the sphinx. The unread
books are quickly spent. Warm weather
means trouble. There is no longer life
on Mars.