there’ll be nothing but coal in the tiny stockings of these iambic feet



this poem is more naughty 
than nice, spicy syllables 
laced with ghost 

-pepper, ancho 
and 
then 
carelessly 
t o s s e d 

in a mean serrano poblano moon sauce. 

::

written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.

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2 Responses to there’ll be nothing but coal in the tiny stockings of these iambic feet

  1. qbit says:

    poblano moon sauce!

Use your words.

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