The Last Cannibal In Brooklyn Poem by David Kowalczyk

Slowly, ever so slowly,
the tiny blue spiders awaken.
They sing and dance
like sweet children.


Early April is a small child,
full of bluster and grace.
The fifth of April, I had a dream.
I pulled a tiny gray skull from
my right rear molar.
Then, my face replaced Lincoln's
on Mount Rushmore.


I was baptized a Catholic,
and you know what that means.
I like my reality solid,
and preferably, edible.
I find rational thought
to be the stuff of heresy.
I am confident my mother
will someday be canonized.


I never actually breath,
only sigh.